

Weightless

Published by Anthony Van at Smashwords

Copyright Anthony Van 2018

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Chapter1

Incessantly, the pinpricks of lights swept by before his eyes. Some bright discs, some sprinkled like glitter and often, clouds of suffuse glowing mist went past, like a backdrop by some celestial graffiti artist running amok with a can of luminescent paint. He was cold. Curled in a huddle lying in a puddle of water, arms wrapped about himself trying to stop shivering; he wondered how long he'd been gazing out at the immense cosmos. Cal couldn't work it out. Where was he? What was he doing? Why was he soaking wet and shivering?

He was shaking violently. Getting moving, getting dry, they were priorities. He concentrated on things he knew. His name was Calvin Dorner. What else? The rest was hazy. He was in space. It must be space because every rotation showed only stars. It occurred to him that he knew about space. Orbital speeds and gravity constants were no mystery to him. What was his job? It eluded him. Why couldn't he remember?

Sitting up, he looked about. Either side of him there were large tanks. He was on a narrow walkway between the two. At his feet there was a guard rail around a ladder well. At about half an earth gravity, Cal estimated that he was on a very large rotating craft. The opposite view port showed the huge globe of the Earth. The ladder indicated a greater diameter where the centripetal acceleration would increase even more as he went 'down' the ladder away from the axis of rotation. He knew if he timed the rotation period, he would be able to calculate, roughly, the size of the station. Even as he thought it the word embedded in his consciousness. He was on a space station.

Looking out again, he was unable to perceive any other part of the structure. At least he could still think. Cal determined that he must be on a strut or spoke of the craft facing outward. The small view port restricted the angle of sight. It could be a series of tubes connected to a centre hub or it could be a large spinning disc, or even a torus with interconnecting spokes. He would have to explore.

Standing, still shuddering from the cold, a wave of caution overcame him. Something was wrong. Why was he alone? Where were the rest of the crew? He looked at his dripping outfit—grey coveralls with a CTSS logo. He knew that was Communication & Transport Space Systems. There was a utility belt with electronic meters, communication devices and, what appeared to be, a specialist toolkit. The devices and tools all appeared to be unaffected by the water. Their design suggested they were air tight and sealed for exposure to the vacuum of space.

Cal's shoes and socks were placed next to a ladder attached to one of the tanks. A domed space helmet was sitting next to the shoes and socks.

"I guess that makes sense," he muttered to himself. The circumstance that was implied was that he decided to swim in the tank of water, so he removed his footwear. "So why did I keep my clothes on?" He made a face; consternation, bewilderment were the words his face was expressing. Cal concluded he had been in a hurry to get into the water. Did he use the helmet to be submerged as much as possible? The germ of an idea arose in his mind. Solar wind, cosmic storms, a deluge of charged particles could be avoided, or at least mitigated, by being immersed in a large volume of water. Is that what happened? Surely a large space station would have a radiation shelter surrounded by gold foil or other interference material and a strong electrically induced magnetic field?

He was thinking clearly enough, why couldn't he remember what had happened? With shaky legs, he ascended the ladder against the tank. A large polypropylene screw lid was placed next to an opening to the tank. He looked in.

Confirming that the tank was filled with water made him smile wryly. Cal hoped that water quality was monitored and treatment ensured its purity. He replaced the lid, jiggling it till the large thread engaged, and then tightening it. Slipping back to the walkway, he considered his priorities and options. Dry clothes were up there along with finding out what was going on and what he was doing out in space.

He had to think creatively. If he could anticipate the dangers it would avoid possible dire consequences. So, he had identified solar flares as one possible cause of his dunking. Maybe some crew violence or a mutiny had caused him to hide. "Mm...the shoes are a bit of a giveaway," he murmured. "People searching would have seen those."

What else? Malfunctions, radiation leaks, breaches to the structural integrity of the craft and evacuation scenarios all provided no obvious explanation of why he should hide in a water tank.

He grabbed his shoes and socks and put the helmet on his head so he could devote his full attention to climbing down the ladder that extended the length of the spoke. Tentatively, Cal eased his way down, rung by rung. Quiet was essential. The silence about him drew attention to any errant scrape or bump. Small recessed diodes provided the necessary light in the pipelike tunnel.

After sixty steps down he came to a small platform. This larger viewing port provided his first sight of the station's structure. He was now a little over halfway out to the rim of a large torus. About two thirds of the way out work had begun on a smaller, but still substantial, tube forming what would end up being a secondary torus. The size of the spinning station was staggering. Cal guessed that, taking into account the distance he'd already travelled, the structure had a diameter of about a kilometre. There appeared to be five large tubes connecting to a cylindrical hub, and five smaller spokes including the one he was in. Each of the smaller spokes had nodules which, he suspected, all contained water storage tanks.

There was a vague sense that none of this was new to him. Cal studied the large central hub. There were ten docking turrets on the side he could see. In essence, the station was shaped like a gigantic toy spinner. The slow movement of the centre meant spaceships docking would have little trouble matching the motion. That whole cylindrical pod of possibly ten or more levels would be the site of experimentation requiring weightless conditions as well as being the nexus for all transports.

The outer ring appeared to be far enough out to produce earth-like gravity. Essentially, that meant normal stresses on muscles and bones and so no physical deterioration of astronaut fitness levels. All living quarters would be down there on the furthest habitable level out. The vague notion of a storage level being the last level occurred to him.

He recommenced his 'descent'. 'Descent', he thought, was a generic term that described movement to greater centripetal acceleration; and 'centripetal acceleration' was an accurate phrase for artificial gravity—something that mimics a force that eludes precise description. His mind was a jumble. Phantom memories of using space station jargon loitered in an inaccessible lobe in his brain.

It took an age to work his way to the main tube. In reality it was little over fifteen minutes, but he was wobbly and weak and the increasing pull on his body wearied him.

This outer tube was huge compared to the access tunnel he had exited. It was about thirty metres in diameter and had five main levels. He explored down stairs. Added to the main levels were inner and outer service spaces and a penultimate outer one for storage. He paused and wondered why all these recurring details filtered into his thoughts as if he already knew them, but the actual state of affairs still escaped him.

He tucked the helmet under an arm. The place felt familiar. It was deserted and the eerie hush of the air circulation was the only sound he heard. It was weird. Now he knew where the living quarters were. Cal had an overpowering urge to retreat from the main inside corridor and find a private room. In his thoughts a particular private room drew him. Address letters on the wall informed him he was at 1B110. He increased his pace. There were five sections of five levels and he was heading for section C.

At 1B120 the thin lines on the wall changed from two to three. He was in section C. When he reached 40, he took the stairs through four levels out. Fear and dread hovered about him. There was a threat. It was a nebulous pall gathering in his mind. He had hidden in a tank of very cold water. For some reason the critical danger had passed. A menace remained. He knew he had to act but he had no idea how or why.

There was his room—5C44. A vagrant thought surfaced. 'One hundred and fifty.' That's how many people were assigned to the space station. It was a provisional, shake-down crew. And none of them knew he was aboard! When that anomaly struck him, he squeezed the bridge of his nose. "Nobody knows I'm here...why?" He was thinking aloud. Did they abandon the station and leave me because no one knew?"

Inside, he looked around. It was his room. The helmet was consigned to the bedside table. Finding some dry clothes, an outfit much the same as what he was wearing, he entered the hygiene module and used the shower to warm himself and reinvigorate his body. Refreshed and dressed, he sat on the bed. He wracked his brain trying to extract some morsel of memory that might illuminate his thinking. The dark shadow of disaster loomed over him like some intangible fiend. In the recesses of his mind a nagging voice warned of the immediacy of calamity; he had a role but the indefinable whispers fled like wisps of smoke.

On the table he noticed, nudged aside by the helmet, the photo of his sister, Hayley. Her mussed blonde hair and cheeky grin stirred his memories. He picked up the photo and read the back. 'Praying for you as you audit that scary AI computer'. That was it! That was his task. He was doing a diagnostic analysis on the new Quantum Artificial Reasoning Computer (QARC). It was the quantum processing network that would idealise and integrate all the systems of the huge space station simultaneously. Its specifications flooded his mind. Sensors for all living conditions, supplies, orbital position, human biometric data and all operational functions were fed into it. Programming was designed to maximise the station's efficiency, maintain its systems and provide optimal performance for earth monitoring, communication and longevity of operation.

Cal recalled that he was a Bohmian mechanics theorist usually working for CTSS as a consultant and trouble shooter. He had been privately contracted by Interspace to evaluate the efficacy of QARC's programming. The computer was designed to 'learn' from gathered data to continuously modify operational algorithms. By meshing the whole of every system, it was meant to advise on optimal conditions.

He had boarded the immense station 'outside its sensing system'. In other words, he wasn't announced to the crew, he didn't have a crew monitoring device which fed data to QARC and he had an isolated living unit as far away as possible from the 'A residences'. But, because of his job, he did have a one-way terminal access to the computer. It couldn't monitor him but he could monitor its workings. That was his mission.

"Thank you, Hayley. You bring everything into focus," he said softly. There was an element of big brotherly affection in his gaze. He put the picture down. The issue was now, what had happened? Why had he hidden in the water tank? Glancing at his wafer-thin computer, he knew he needed to insinuate his data gathering program into the QARC system supercomputer. It might reveal how his presence became known.

He opened up the link to the controlling system. Because QARC loaded its operating history as part of its decision-making functions, all its actions would be filed and sorted and categorised with valuations referring to levels of effect in terms of ideal outcomes. The dominant communication he found was the abandonment of the whole station. QARC advised evacuation due to nuclear core instability. The history revealed the warnings became successively more insistent and ominous. "Imminent core meltdown is indicated," was the bold lettered communique sent to every terminal in the station. Cal noted that it was accompanied with blaring sirens and instructions about the safest mode of expediting the evacuation.

That was why he had left his safe haven. He had to investigate for himself what had been going on. He recalled running into two humanoid robots and frantically retreating out of sight. They had been demanding he identify himself. That's what must have caused him to run and hide. The details were still a misty memory.

Automatically, he checked the status of the reactor, bypassing the main computer and reading directly off the reactor computer. Temperatures were fine, power was minimal but being generated optimally. It was running normally. "What are you up to QARC?" he murmured. Cal examined the video library. He flicked through time intervals till he arrived at the evacuation. In the record of events, several of the servo robots, under instruction from QARC, were assisting the crew in boarding shuttles four, five and six. The computer's survey of camera locations confirmed the deserted corridors. Then one stopped. It zoomed in on Cal, himself, exiting the coms hub. A message flashed underneath, 'unregistered intruder'. He had glanced at his own wrist device which relayed QARC's activities and then stared at the camera. A graphic appeared overlaying the video, showing the computer applying its facial recognition procedures, with his features plotted and the dimensions recorded. Robots were summoned to isolate the unwanted interloper to maintain the integrity of the station.

That's why they intercepted him. The mechanical extensions of the computer were seeking to quarantine him. He knew the program prevented injury to humans but the machines were quite capable of detaining people, in this case to remove him from disrupting operations, or prevent harm to crew members of the space station. He remembered now. He had run to a main hub arm, taken a lift seat to the hub and then rapidly went out again on the small service tube. The halfway airlock provided the helmet and, frantic about being caught, he foolishly had chosen the water tank as the best short-term concealment. Leaving his shoes outside the tank he had hoped was irrelevant to the robots who were searching for a human fugitive with particular facial dimensions. Although maybe now, links between shoes, the location and his disappearance were being woven into the growing code of the quantum computer.

The water had been colder than he had expected. His stay, submerged in the tank, was determined largely by his understanding of the programming parameters guiding the computer. He had to give the robots time to travel every corridor and tube and link that data with all the video surveillance. Normally half an hour would be sufficient. However, Cal took into account the logic of the quantum processors. The search would be unresolved. It was likely it would be repeated.

The question 'Why?' continued to echo as he watched recordings of the humanoid robots striding along storage levels and examining areas not covered by camera angles. What would cause a false alarm to be triggered and then QARC to act on it despite there being no evidence that the nuclear reactor had problems? The plot of an old movie had him weighing up the possibilities. Was QARC turning rogue? Could it, independently, interpret its coding to take control of the station for its own misconceived ends? Cal hadn't been involved in the system design but he knew instructional errors could occur, and even though it made decisions based on data, the dominant operating rules should be a failsafe to prevent QARC from enacting routines that would be harmful to the crew or the mission.

He was tempted to start analysing the coding which had led to the current situation. Three shuttles had departed and he was left with a malfunctioning quantum computer. As he continued to view video logs, he was shocked to learn that he wasn't alone. Another camera view showed eight crew barricaded in a maintenance section. Three females and five males were huddled together. It appeared QARC was restricting temperature control and air supply. He read the instructions the computer was feeding them.

"The space station is at risk. You must evacuate on shuttle 7. Your presence is inhibiting optimal operation."

This was contrary to operational stipulations. For some reason the computer was creating its own operating principles. 'Was that possible,' Cal asked himself. Or, had some malicious programming infiltrated the controlling system? Whatever the case, he had to rescue the crew stranded in the maintenance sector. Reprogramming and redefining QARC's restrictions would have to come later. The question dogged him though; the cumulative learning modules within the processor should be directed by immutable strictures governing decision making. The welfare of human crew should always be paramount. That was usually a given when designing quantum software.

Taking his wafer-thin device, he attached the Velcro on the back to his chest. Leaving his quarters, he then went down one flight of stairs to the outer extremity of the torus. In the corridors between storage modules there were access hatches to all the utility cabling. He opened the particular access hatch he was at to the confines of the outer service level. A narrow rail trolley ran around the whole circle enabling easy checking of cabling and fairly smooth, quick access along the station's circumference. Manually, finding a master control box, he disconnected the chain of cameras that monitored the service level. He added to the complexity of the fault by detaching a data cable, reversing a switch and separating a connection behind a circuit breaker. Bots were capable of fixing simple single faults and will attempt to coordinate two glitches simultaneously, but he supposed that three was beyond them. Human initiative was required to perceive the possibility of intentional impairment and predict multiple acts to incapacitate the circuits.

Cal sat on the trolley and engaged its pedal geared propulsion, aware that the computer would sense any use of motorised travel. Pushing pedals with a steady rhythm allowed him to rise through four gears. Every fifth of the circle was a mandatory air seal. These had to be opened to pass through and then closed. They were the only restrictions in the outer service space because pressure hatches isolated this level from the others. He knew the upper levels had emergency pressure doors every third of a sector—which was about two hundred metres.

In the last six hundred metre stretch, the structural ribs of the inner pressure hull flashed by in a blur. With a quarter of a kilometre to go he allowed the trolley to coast, braking gently over the last fifty metres to his destination. He had ridden to E sector and that's where he disembarked. QARC could possibly sense the trolley movement and wonder who was moving. It meant he had to hasten before a robot responded to a query.

Carefully entering up into the lowest functional level through an access hatch, he looked around. Cal snuck through two storage units before searching a third storage pod. If his information was correct, portable battery packs were stowed in this unit. Once located, he linked three in parallel and lodged them in a backpack, holding an electrode in each rubber gloved hand. On each electrode tip he had sheathed the metal with another insulating glove. Now he was ready.

There was a broad corridor between the storage area and the maintenance workshops. Stairs initially followed the curving wall to the inner levels, closer to the hub. They then cut back inwards. He pondered on his tactics. It would be best to neutralise each robot individually if he could. A short circuit across the trunk of the machines, where the main electronic processors were situated, would either fuse their circuits or throw a circuit breaker. The latter would be preferable. He cracked open the door and saw two robots at the exit on this side. A dextrous, mechanical hand clasping onto the handle was all that was required to secure the room. He imagined there would be two on the other end of the workshops as well, performing the same task.

This meant a reassessment of his strategy. It was unlikely he could sneak up on two of the automatons and he wasn't about to meddle with the controlling program; that would alert the computer's anti-hacking software and QARC's fuzzy logic decision making might block his input stream. His incursions would have to be far more delicate.

The solution to decommissioning the robots proved to be anything but delicate. He withdrew to the previous storage module where a remote-control mechanical lifter was housed. This was used to transfer heavy loads from stores to where they were required. Strapping on the battery pack arrangement he rehearsed how he would manipulate its lifting arms to contract around the torso of the robots. A careless action and he would short circuit his lifter. Placing a large vinyl apron on the mechanism would give it some insulating protection. Priming the lifter to grasp the slightly open door with the third of its four extendable arms everything was rechecked. He was ready.

Speedily backtracking to the previous corridor and stairwell, Cal climbed one level and cautiously walked through a hydroponic growing module as long as the three storage modules below. He oriented himself to sight the storage module door down one level of stairs. Cal reversed the lifter using the controller. The door opened and immediately both mechanical guards pivoted around to gaze at the appearing lifter. QARC clearly had no pre-set procedures for dealing with random machine activity, and its cumulative learning would be shallow in the area of threats from another machine. Both robots stood inactive as the lifter approached.

It wasn't until the outstretched alloy arms clad in rubber neared the first machine that the words, "Danger of contact," emanated from the small speaker in the upper chest. A blue arc crackled from wire ends through the metallic encasement a puff of smoke disclosed the fusing of microcircuits and a loud pop suggested terminal damage to a servo motor. The other robot was receiving data from QARC suggesting leaving the door would prevent a repetition of the disabling electrical discharge. Too late! Metals contacted and the surge of current melted wiring, fried circuits and started a fire inside as Cal fiddled with the controls trying to back off and disengage with the robot.

Finally disentangled, the lifter retreated away. Cal feared the lithium hydride batteries may have been damaged by the prolonged rapid discharge. He reversed the lifter back several metres and leapt down the stairs. Taking everything into account it was minimal damage. At least he could release the trapped crew members now. What to do next hadn't yet gelled. He had set in motion an irreversible chain of events. The artificial reasoning of the quantum computer would be altered by this encounter. He stared at the smoke as it wafted about, rising perceptibly due to the marginal increase in air density toward the outer perimeter of the station.

Chapter 2

A sputter of residual electrical burnout in the first bot broke his reverie. Suddenly he sprang into action. His computer interface tuned into the robotic control program showed instructions for other robots. A query generated because of the disabled machine led to a command to investigate. QARC was clearly inquisitive about the malfunction of two of its automated crew almost at the same time and in the same region. The smouldering machine would be extinguished by its clones so he shoved it aside and watched it topple with a crash. Opening the door released a dank, stale odour. The captive crew were all lying prone in various states of distress. Two, a male and female, were unconscious. Cal decided their quickest escape route was down the hatch into the service space. They could place a few trolleys on the track to propel them around to his section C area that was blacked out to the sensors.

An older male looked at him groggily. "Who are you?" he croaked.

"A friend...come to get you out."

"It's no good. The computer's gone crazy."

Cal shook his head. "If we go now then we can evade detection."

He started dragging the unconscious female toward the corridor. "Can you give me a hand with her and then we'll get the guy out?"

The others started rousing themselves from their oxygen starved state as the young guy made the motions of helping out. "Why didn't you evacuate with the others?" Cal asked curiously.

"Leila," the other said pointing. "She's an engineer...a nuclear physicist as well...she said that there were too many fail safes for the reactor to malfunction. So we checked its operation and everything was fine. That's when the bots herded us in here...because we refused to board a shuttle."

"Well evacuating is probably the only wise course of action...especially with QARC the way it is." Cal half grunted as he went through the doorway.

The remaining four caught on and began lugging the unconscious male toward the door. Once through and having removed the hatch cover, Cal dropped into the service space and instructed them to lower Leila through the hatch when he was ready. Their feeble condition caused them to follow directions unquestioningly, as if thinking were too much of a burden. Attached on clips to the low ceiling were ten trolleys. Every manhole access point had the same. He removed two and then had the girl passed down. After pushing her trolley along, he had the other incapacitated member eased down and lay him on the second trolley. The others slid down and helped themselves to trolleys. Cal took the rear position and explained they would peddle around to section C, gathering his empty trolley along the way.

With all the leftover crew below the storage level, the hatch cover was replaced. They set off slowly. Leila was making sounds which were signs of her regaining consciousness so, when they reached Cal's abandoned trolley, another female crawled to the front. She boarded the trolley and used that while calming and reassuring her companion that they were getting away. It took about three times as long to retrace the route to section C because of the dead weight and the impaired physical condition of the group. Being last, Cal closed the two pressure hatches they passed through.

It took some time to get the crew members from the service tunnel up to his room. He provided refreshments and introductions were made. Bailey, the crew member who had made most of the conversation, appeared to be the natural leader. Karin and Melanie, the other two females, were keen to make use of the hygiene facilities in his unit as the males tried to revive Paolo, the still motionless, and more elderly, electrical engineer. Leila was beginning to sit up and moved over to lean over her prostrate colleague. Feeling his carotid artery, she adjudged quietly, "I think he's dead." She called Melanie.

For the next five minutes Melanie, Bailey and Cal, along with the three mostly recovered males, Rex, Noel and Giles, tried to resuscitate Paolo. The girl's actions were those of an experienced first aider. Cal assumed that was the reason she was called.

However, their concerted efforts were futile.

"How is this possible?" bewailed Leila as she watched Melanie, Cal and her four other comrades surrender to the inevitable. "QARC is supposed to be programmed to preserve life at all costs."

"Maybe it's reprogramming itself," offered Rex, as he breathed heavily.

"That's not likely...they've got protections," countered Bailey.

"What do we do with Paolo?" It was Giles quietly grounding the conversation to a morbid necessity.

"You'll have to take him back with you on a shuttle," stated Cal.

Bailey looked stern. "Why should you tell us what to do?" They all looked at him. Melanie then left, for the bathroom, distraught, biting her lower lip. She seemed to take the death personally.

Cal reconsidered his approach. "So...you want to stay even though the computer has become aggressive?"

"I know I don't," whimpered Leila.

Bailey shot an annoyed glance at her before directing his answer back. "That's our decision. Why do you want us to go?"

"For your own safety. Who knows what QARC is getting the robots to do now? I suggest you go while you still can." He cited a number of operational conditions the computer had breached indicating it was unpredictable and, therefore patently dangerous.

"What about you?" Noel spoke up for the first time. "Are you coming with us?" There was an edge of guardedness in his voice.

Cal gave a reluctant breathy, exhalation. "I didn't tell you before but I'm on board to evaluate the computer. Now that it's gone haywire, I'm going to have to fix it somehow."

"Can you do that?"

Cal swivelled around to see Melanie enter from the bathroom. The wash and freshly laundered unisex outfit, along with the use of generic products available in every unit, had transformed her appearance. "I mean, I thought the software was tamper proof."

"Well...there are some things I can try..." He remained evasive about the specific extent of his access. "It's my job after all." The latter was stated unconvincingly.

Bailey pounced at his lack of conviction. "How do we know you didn't set this up...that you're trying to take control of the whole station for yourself?" Even as he said it he became more belligerent. "You could be hijacking the station for some gang."

"He's right you know," inserted Rex. "QARC didn't lock you up...why's that?"

As Karin joined them looking equally as refreshed, Melanie spoke again. "If that was his aim, why would he rescue us? Why would he decommission two robots? You're not making sense." She smiled knowingly at Cal. "I think you're here to help. Is there any reason we can't help you, and then we all leave together?"

The question was compelling. Its logic demanded an answer. He gazed at the astute girl. After deliberating briefly, his words came slowly. "I don't know if I can solve it. I don't know how long we can remain on the station before life support systems are shut down. There are just too many unknowns...and...I'd prefer to not have to worry about you guys while I'm trying to debug this thing. For your own safety, I suggest you leave as soon as you can."

"I'm all for going," opted Karin who was standing next to her.

"Me too," added Giles. "And we need to return Paolo to his relatives."

"I think someone should stay to keep our friend honest," said Bailey, as wary as ever. "We owe it to Interspace to protect their investment."

"Not me. I almost died last time...when I thought we should stay," claimed Leila.

"No...you all should go...I'll stay," said Bailey.

"I'll stay too," volunteered Melanie. "If he is the villain you say he is you'll need support, but if he is who he says he is, he'll need someone to protect him from your scepticism." Her reasoning impressed Cal. Altogether she was entirely too likeable in his estimation. He felt that he didn't need the distraction of her charms or the contentious aggravation that Bailey spouted. Nevertheless, there was little he could do to dissuade either of them from being his support team.

"Right...well, we need to get everyone to the hub to board a shuttle."

"How many are left?" queried Karin.

"Three...There are also emergency capsules but the shuttle should guarantee a safe return to Earth by way of the Platform transporter base."

Bailey reasserted his authority. "How do you propose we get there...I mean, especially with Paolo?"

"We can't take an elevator cable up or a freight elevator in a main shaft. All those are centrally monitored and would be shut down the moment we tried to use them."

"What then?" asked Rex.

"C Narrow. It's the tunnel I used earlier. We have to climb the ladder but every step gets easier."

"I was afraid you'd say one of the spokes. How are we going to get Paolo up through that?" complained Karin.

"Four people above with tethers and one below for support," explained Cal.

"That's two people who don't have a role," indicated Noel.

"Leila's in no condition to lift and one of the other girls needs to scout up ahead to make sure we don't meet any of QARC's mechanical helpers."

"That's not likely is it?" argued Bailey. "I've never seen them down a spoke."

Cal knew that they were capable of navigating to all parts of the station but were restricted because their presence limited movement by human crew. He said nothing.

"Four is enough to pull," reasoned Giles. His limited submissions engendered respect in Cal's estimation.

"I'll help lift," submitted Melanie. "Can't have you guys thinking we don't pull our weight."

Noel went on an errand for Cal to retrieve a space suit and four EVA tethers used for spacewalks, external repairs and any other extravehicular activities. The specific storage pod was not too far away so he was absent only a short time. The suit had appropriate tether attachments and would provide a bit of rigidity to the body as they hauled it toward the hub.

While Paolo's body was readied, Cal consulted his interface screen to determine what QARC was up to. Already the logic paths were showing some disturbing statistical inferences and extrapolations. The code was suggesting that the remnant crew were detrimental to the ongoing optimal functioning of the space station. Three courses of action were being simulated to determine the minimal effect on all key operating parameters but it seemed the actions were being tracked outside of the critical principle of life support being mandatory. Somehow the programming had been corrupted. The computer was now running threads on how best to depopulate the station.

Cal examined the readout lines. His software paraphrased the computer's 'thinking'. It examined a coupled super computer that was like a mind reader, getting coherent sentences from the abstract qubit logic pathways of the quantum processor. The options were enumerated. Venting air was a low-level consideration. It was viewed as irreversible and adversely affected temperature control. The second simulation was investigating the pros and cons of waiting out the remnant crew with robotic surveillance. This option appeared to be getting rejection outcomes because of a time limit criterion embedded in the program. It was further evidence to Cal that the software had been tampered with. Someone had access and was feeding in data and altering governing parameters.

The third simulation involved lowering the temperature of the station by cutting off heating. Freezing the crew would also decimate the aquaculture food growing crops, still only at trial proportions at present. The loss would set the station program back several months. This strand of logic was gaining precedence. Restarting food production was a reversible process. To block this course of events, Cal knew it would mean acting quickly once the shuttle was successfully away.

"You're talking to QARC aren't you?" accused Bailey with a sneering squint.

"Just monitoring...it's what I do. It's what I have to do to work out how to undo this intrusion of malignant command lines."

"How do we know you're not causing this...trying to get the station for yourself?"

He replayed Melanie's rebuttal. "And that's why I rescued you guys, disabled some robots and am telling you about my particular skillset?" There was sarcasm in his reply. Cal was concerned that Bailey had resumed his antagonistic claims about him. If he was remaining then it would be an added challenge to complete what he had to do.

"So what are you going to do?" Bailey was belligerent with his inquiry.

"How about we do this first," said Cal indicating the now suited body. "When we get the shuttle off, we'll concentrate on the next problem."

All seven then commenced the task of moving their burden to the tunnel in the nearest spoke. To mask their transition to the narrow conduit, Cal used his digital device to send an elevator from the hub down to 'section A' outer and raised the load readout on the carriage. His access to subsystems allowed him to confuse the master computer with false information. Suggesting that crew were moving elsewhere would, he hoped, draw mechanical interference away from them.

The first hundred metres was exhausting, even with five of the seven applying pull and push. They paused at the sounding of a short alarm on his wafer-thin computer.

"Sorry...I have to reset the elevator diagnostics. It will mean QARC won't recognise a manipulation of data inputs."

"What if you didn't?" Noel still examined him with caution.

"Its logic circuits would assign probabilities and conclude that system data inputs are not reliable, and we'll have one less method to distract it.

By halfway, having negotiated a couple of tangled lines, the hundred and ten kilograms of mass—some of it spacesuit— 'weighed' far less. A short breather allowed the group to muster energy for the last effort. Leila was still slowly climbing the metal ladder to re-join them having been left behind when she stopped earlier to rest.

Cal explained that it would be essential to move quickly when they gained access to the large hub cylinder. Entering the shuttle would be detected and Cal was unsure what countermeasures, if any, the unpredictable artificial intelligence would take. To label it hostile would be attributing human characteristics, but the word stuck in Cal's mind. Either, somehow, its main instructions had scrambled, it had overridden them because of contradictory guidelines or someone was meddling with the program. The human factor loomed large in his thoughts. A skilled programmer, someone who had access codes or was an exceptional hacker, must be rewriting code. Who, and what deviant purpose, was driving this cyber penetration? The lingering thought that he was dealing with human opposition plagued him. It would mean any dastardly act was possible. Such is the nature of man.

Leila had arrived and they knew departure would have to wait until she regained her breath.

"We go to shuttle three...it's closest," directed Cal.

"Will QARC try and stop us?" Karin asked. She was least affected by the climb having only to scout ahead for the portage group.

"If we're smart in severing the computer connection with the craft, we should be able to undock without any trouble. I have a feeling that leaving won't be an issue...but staying might be problematic."

"Well, we'll find out," inserted Bailey. "We need to go for it." It seemed he still wanted to display some measure of authority."

"Are you okay to go, Leila?" Cal was concerned that she looked haggard.

"Don't worry about me...I'm not lifting." It was clear the depredations of their confinement had taken toll on her.

"You start up with Karin and we'll follow in a minute. That way we'll be able to rush the shuttle together."

The two girls set off first and Cal had a quick check of his interface. The computer was generating queries. 'Where had the crew gone? Why are cameras in the service space out?' He was quite impressed by the machine's adaptability and problem-solving processes. What concerned him most was the inclination of the computer to want to eradicate human presence from the station.

"We should go," interrupted Melanie as he was about to examine the operating protocols.

"Yeah." He extricated his utility program out of the inner operating system of the high-speed computer working in tandem with QARC. Quietly he scolded himself for allowing his technical inquisitiveness to cloud his thinking. It was no time to be auditing the software.

The second half of the haul was no hassle at all. The diminishing centripetal pull on their masses allowed for easier movement. That brought them rapidly to the C-Narrow hatch that opened into the middle level of the many sectioned hub cylinder. Each docking point located at the end levels, could be secured by air-tight sealed doors. This provided emergency isolation of a venting breach should a docking procedure lead to a collision. The group congregated around the hatch while Cal reminded them that the first available shuttle was four levels to the left. Cameras would detect them but robots were seldom in the weightless environment of the hub since they were required to be tethered to running rails to prevent unsecured impacts.

Cal summarised their plan one last time. It was a case of a fast transfer to the shuttle, severing the computer connection both physically, by flicking switches, and electronically by transferring functions to on board computers. The onus would be on the three remaining to then determine how to negate the out of control QARC.

With a burst of activity Cal and Bailey emerged through the hatch and launched themselves across the space to the left access corridor. In tow was the suited body of the deceased crewman. They floated to the cavity, bumping into the wall as effort was made to redirect their momentum. Like bedraggled giant birds the others trailed their course, bouncing off the wall in similar fashion and then using their hands to impel themselves to the designated end level.

Inside, they made straight for the docking airlock. Cal was inside. The other four men were manoeuvring Paolo through the hatch and they were followed by Karin, Melanie and Leila. He waited for everyone to enter before closing up the pressure secure chamber. When the first hatch was sealed Cal opened the shuttle hatch and went in. He made straight for the isolation switch and broke the hard wire link with the main computer. Coms, power and ventilation links were then cut off. Next, he entered the master program and selected on-board processing. A prompt from the on-board computer sought a confirmation and he immediately punched the key. Rex, Noel and Giles came into the shuttle, dragging their suited cargo followed by Bailey, who was pushing and then Karin and Leila came after. Melanie remained in the airlock.

Both Rex and Noel, who had pilot swatches on their coveralls, were already starting up the flight check routine.

"We'll leave you to it," advised Cal as he patted Rex on the back. He headed back out followed closely by Bailey. The latter sealed off the airlock and Cal assumed the shuttle was also being secured against the vacuum of space. A voice over the intercom informed them that they would announce their departure once the pre-flight routine had been completed.

Chapter 3

Cal led the other two to the central level where all the large spokes and narrow shafts intersected. Making their way to the same narrow shaft down to C section he noted ascending lifts which, no doubt, had robots sent to search out the hub. Quickly exiting into the shaft and securing the hatch, he allowed the centrifuge effect of the station to begin his passage toward the outer ring. As acceleration forces increased, he used the friction of his hands on the ladder rails to restrict his fall. Cal then added impedance by braking with the soles of his shoes against the metal sides before the tug of centripetal force became too great.

As the pull approached half a g, he had to counteract his increasing speed by using the ladder rungs conventionally. Then at the place where he had immersed himself in a water supply tank, he waited for the other two. He stopped there for a confab with Melanie and Bailey. He needed to emphasise the tricky nature of the task. They would have to shut the power down to the main computer before its actions became too adverse to curb. Readouts monitoring its decision-making processing were suggesting that QARC was defining the three of them as hostile to the operation of the facility. A tactic gaining momentum in its quantum brain was their elimination by the only offensive strategy it had—a proximal group crush by a number of bots. The paradigms to perform this action were totally original to the electronic pathways created by the quantum processors. Cal surmised that they were driven by new, dangerous code introduced through a nefarious agency, and that the intrusion had removed the fail-safe control software that obstructed any harmful act against humans.

His plan was to go to the main computer centre and break the electricity feed. His knowledge of sensors suggested that their activities would be monitored and the machine could rapidly 'comprehend' through the confluence of multiple logic routes that its power source was in jeopardy. What was difficult was convincing Bailey that this was an acceptable solution. Being older and highly suspicious of Cal's presence, he was prickly to deal with. On the other hand, Melanie, who was similar to his own age, had taken a shine to him and was readily on board with any plan the dashing rescuer put forward. He assumed Bailey went along because they were going ahead regardless of his opinion.

The three hit a snag right at the outset. Heading farther down the narrow passage, crackling sounds alerted them to something occurring at the tunnel's end. A check with his screen confirmed that the robots had been instructed to weld down the hatches terminating the narrow structural shafts thereby limiting the access routes they needed to patrol. A shimmer of heat and curling vapours attested that great heat was being applied to the aperture. The three hastily fled all the way back to the hub lest they become trapped in a shaft strut.

Again, floating through the open conduit connecting the levels of the hub had them huddled in the third level from the central junction hall where all the spokes and shafts terminated. They chose to seal themselves in a chamber that led to an exit air lock. There was also, near the periphery, access to the fifteen levels of the hub. At the far ends, on the flat sides of the cylinder, were circles of docking bays. The one near them was where the last two shuttles were parked. Their nearness would provide another option if the situation became critical. Cal couldn't help thinking that this had been the strategy of the autonomous electronic decision maker all the while.

"This is going to make reaching the computer centre a bit harder," he observed.

"Why don't we just make our escape while we can," contended Bailey.

"You want to abandon the station...costing hundreds of billions of dollars... to whoever is corrupting the machine's software so they can take possession of it?"

"That's right...What do you think Melanie?" It appeared that Bailey had decided it was a democratic process.

"No..." she began uncertainly. "I'm with Cal. He rescued us and...as far as I'm concerned, he can call the shots."

"You're mad...He'll get us all killed."

"You can take the shuttle. There will still be one left for us if we need it." Cal was deadpan as he said it.

"I'm tempted to. The problem is that if you're the one behind all this, it's exactly what you want." He bared his teeth with agitation. "No, I'm staying...only because I don't trust you." He turned to Melanie. "You realise we don't really know anything about him. Why did he just appear? Where did he come from?" For a moment doubts rose in her gaze. She chewed her bottom lip. "He rescued us," she repeated.

"Maybe he did it to get rid of us." Bailey's naysaying was beginning to gain ground.

She glanced through the observation port of the hatch. "We've got company." The other two looked. The view showed three robots hovering in the conduit. Cal feared they might get trapped again. Melanie made a remark to that effect. "You know they'll quarantine us here until they're ready to move in, don't you?" She elaborated. "They may have been instructed to wait to determine if we three are evacuating. Given time they might come and force the issue." Cal's eye's widened. He was looking at the hub spacesuit storage module.

"We could suit up...go EV and re-enter at a service airlock. They all have external control panels."

"You are crazy!" protested Bailey. "That's five hundred metres. Have you ever done an EV? I know I haven't, and I doubt if Melanie has."

"It's not difficult...We'll take precautions," countered Cal. "We'll be tethered...double carabiners all along the 'A' spoke safety rail. It will be unexpected and give us an advantage in ending this debacle." He tilted his head. "Unless you want me to do this alone and take your chances here?"

It was at that point that Cal heard Rex announce their departure. He told them to take care and suggested they should meet up when the whole episode was over. Rex was completing his farewells when Leila butted in and said she had been remiss, and then proceeded to thank him effusively. A few more abridged goodbyes from the others ended the communication. They stopped to crane their necks against an elongated viewing port, watching the shuttle ease away with minor gas ejections. The shuttle had disappeared when Cal returned to the question at hand. "Well, have you decided? You should be safe if you stay here."

Bailey, ever the constant adversary, appeared to be considering this when Melanie interjected.

"I'll give it a try...If you're sure a novice can manage it."

"Should be no problem. You'll feel a bit stiff and awkward in the suit but we'll be tethered to a railing and you can just float along for the ride." He looked at the other. "What do you say Bailey?"

"Looks like I don't have a choice. I don't like it...but...well...someone's got to oppose you if you decide to run the thing yourself...As you said, it's worth billions of dollars."

Cal was secretly relieved that Bailey would accompany them. That way he could keep an eye on him. Had he stayed inside then the notion of his collusion, with some conspiracy to hijack the station, would have gained credence. "It's better we stay together, anyway," added Melanie. "If we have to make a dash for the shuttle, then...well, it complicates things if we have to wait or look around for each other."

Cal knew what she meant, but he had no intention of giving up against, what was for want of a better term, a malignant program.

Getting the spacesuit on was a practised chore for Cal who had completed a number of assignments repairing and reprogramming major orbiting satellites. He got those jobs because his early electronics background added a dimension to his skills that few could replicate. After quickly getting clad in the legs of the protective suit, he noted that the task proved more of a challenge for the other two. He assisted both Melanie and Bailey in lowering into the bottom half of their suits. In the hub a frame was used to support the suit while appendages were inserted. Pulling the top half down required assistance in the weightless conditions. Once Cal ensured that the other two both had the waist ring seals engaged, he had them help him get into the top of his suit. Gloves were then secured with similar ring seals.

Cal talked them through the procedures of operating their radios and powering up the suit to ensure temperature control and air supply. Although they were more compact than early models, the packs on the back of each suit were still bulky and added significantly to their mass. His advice was that gentle movement meant less effort would be required to counter the momentum—Newton's laws of motion still held in space and if anything, they were more apparent.

They were all suited, pressurised and closed in the airlock when Cal addressed them over the intercom. "We should have plenty of air to complete the traverse but monitor it anyway, as a precaution. We should be able to manually gain an entry to a service bay in 'A' section. We'll take a small service tool kit with us just in case, but tools are accessible in a number of sites on the superstructure." He hoped it wouldn't be necessary to access the servo motor controlling the outer hatch bypassing the switching mechanism. A back up that he didn't mention was his interface with the computer, which he attached on a Velcro strip on the right thigh of his suit.

Air evacuated to the gentle thrumming of a compressor. The sound diminished commensurate with the falling density till both were near zero. The hatch opened and Cal led the small troop out into the vacuum of space. He hitched his first carabiner onto the exit railing which linked in a circle to all the transverse railing routes along each outgoing arm and spar. As Melanie and Bailey came out, he demonstrated the initial carabiner attachment and subsequent engaging of the second carabiner which enabled the release of the first once they had moved to a railing support. Because the supports occurred every two metres their progress around the perimeter circle of the hub was painstaking. Upon reaching the main spoke to 'A' section, high tensile wire cables allowed fifty metre transitions between attachments to the superstructure. At each attachment they would switch uncoupling of the safety ties.

Exposed to the vastness of space, velvety black with sprays of light, and seeing the immense globe of the Earth, the extensive structure along which they moved still took in much of their view. Much more visible from outside, was the huge array of glistening, black photovoltaic panels, filling the voids of the ten circle sectors within the torus. The large expanse supplemented the nuclear reactor's energy supply. Cal gauged that the area of photon collectors could provide a level of energy necessary for maintaining survival conditions on the space station. Looking back to the hub he could see the two remaining shuttles along the outside circumference of the flat end of the sizable cylinder. In the centre there was a clear glass dome, four metres in diameter, which was one of the two main observatories—one at each end of the hub.

With the emptiness of space all about, the immense complex was a comforting refuge to be anchored to. Hand over hand, Cal expertly propelled himself along each fifty-metre length and then waited for the other two to ease their way to the next cable bracket.

About half way to the rim, he watched as Melanie transferred her two safety links and started sliding along the wire. Bailey lingered. Cal watched him remove something from his utility belt. Suddenly he yelled into the intercom, "Melanie, hold the wire tight!"

It was too late. Bailey had cut the wire. The released tension caused the braided metal to recoil instantly. It catapulted the girl away from the spoke and off the retreating cable. Melanie cried in despair as she was jettisoned into space away from the structure. "Ahh...help, help!" Her grasping hands swam ineffectually trying to regain some purchase. Instantly, Cal reacted. A third carabiner wound inside a ratchet reel was frantically linked to the next length of secure cable. "Cal, I'm drifting away!" she screamed in anguish.

"I'm coming...give me a sec." The thick gloves made manipulating the tether equipment awkward. He used a release key to detach the other two links, disengaged the ratchet, and launched himself in the anticipated point of their trajectory conjunction. The emergency tether unwound as he began bridging the gap to the thrashing, floating astronaut.

"Relax Mel. Save your energy...I'm coming."

"I'm going further...help...don't leave me!" she quailed.

Aware that his initial course was too shallow, Cal removed a small pressure cylinder from a leg clip. He stretched his arms in a rigid tee, one pointing to where he sought to intercept the girl, the other pointing the pressure cylinder in the opposite direction. Short bursts of releasing, high pressure gas thrust him toward the point of intersection.

"Get ready to grab my arm," he called unnecessarily loudly.

He was scarcely at the locus of convergence when Cal's tether locked to its full extent. A slight rebound meant Melanie's outstretched arm reached agonisingly short of his gloved hand. She wailed now; panic stricken. Disregarding his own safety, Cal unclipped his tether. He then nudged himself with ever increasing speed using the gas cylinder in a long burst. He pursued his weightless companion diagonally away from the space station.

When it was clear that he was exceeding Melanie's velocity he desisted from using the minute force. He knew that every micro newton directed away from the structure would have to be countered. And the sum of their total momentum would be a drain on the limited propellant left in the cylinder. Gradually, ever so slowly, the span between them was reduced.

"We're going to die," sobbed the stricken girl. "Look how far away we are."

"Just relax...breathe slowly...I'm almost there."

Little by little the distance reduced to metres, then centimetres before Cal grabbed her arm and hauled her to him. "Hold onto the straps on the Life Support pack," he instructed.

"How are we getting back," panted Melanie anxiously.

"Don't worry...Make sure you're hanging on."

Cal directed the stream of venting gas at an angle that would skew his course to the far side of the torus. Each subsequent burst of spray negated the vertical component vector away from the station.

Finally, they had reached the apex of their curve and began returning back, closing in on the D E portion of the giant ring. The retro acceleration was still insufficient. At this rate they would over shoot the craft. Cal altered the angle to reduce their transverse velocity, maintaining the retarding force. Its effect on their combined mass was essentially half as rapid as when he applied it solo. If the liquid helium ran out now they would miss the outer doughnut shape by several metres. Should that be the case, Cal resolved to give Melanie a shove in the direction of the D section airlock 2 so that at least one of them would make it.

The stream of gas sputtered momentarily, until he realised that his grip on the trigger had slipped a little. At last their trajectory began aligning with the appropriate entry point. Cal's next concern was the rate at which they were approaching. In his effort to rectify their position vertical to the torus plane he hadn't shed enough horizontal speed component. He continuously ejected gas in opposition to their motion knowing that the impact against the bulkhead was going to be considerable. They must not bounce. The words swirled around in his head. Furiously he prepared for the collision. He snapped Melanie's carabiner into his. Then he adjusted their course fractionally. He was aiming for the safety cable. Cal readied his other carabiner, holding it open. He got rid of the gas canister, pushing it in the same direction they were heading reducing their momentum marginally.

"Get ready for a crash," he warned. Both hands were now on the open carabiner, preparing to snag the wire and release the catch simultaneously. Melanie clung tenaciously to him.

The end of D spoke rushed toward them. Cal altered his arms minimally, snapped the metal catch on the wire and released it as they crunched into the metal. With Melanie behind him, he was like meat in a sandwich. Even with the suit and padded Life Support pack, a grunt emanated from him as he was winded by the crash. The bounce still occurred. Cal rotated in an arc, restrained by his safety line. The girl, flung in a wider arc, lost her grip and screamed. The safety connection between them held and she came rebounding back into him. Diminishing jolts dissipated the remaining forces and they hung in space, breathing heavily, jubilant that they were secured to the gargantuan metal home in space. She still clung to him like a limpet irrespective of the fact that they were linked together. He could hardly move, shuddering with aches. It had been precarious. The margin between safety and being a clump of space detritus had been very fine. Now they both had to recover, gather themselves, think clearly and get their heart rates down before any critical decisions were made.

"Bailey tried to kill us," remarked Cal.

"You mean me," corrected Melanie, her words coming between gasps. "You would have been safe... if you'd stayed where you were."

"I doubt it. He probably had hopes of sending us both off to our deaths. He's shown his hand, now he'll be a menace to us, so we'll have to be on our guard."

"Do you think he's responsible for the computer going crazy?"

"More likely he's in someone's pay...given the job of monitoring the remnant that didn't evacuate."

"You think? I suppose he was always suggesting it would be safer to leave. If Leila hadn't been so sure the reactor hadn't malfunctioned, we'd all be safe."

Cal took in the magnificence of the scene about them. The increasing glow from Earth indicated they were emerging from the night side of the planet. As the crescent grew, blues, browns and greens were spattered with dots, streaks and swirls of white. Melanie became conscious of their proximity and eased back a little.

"Are you ready to move on?" asked Cal.

"Uh huh...and Cal...thanks...you risked your life for me."

He didn't know how to answer without sounding corny. The phrase, 'Anyone would have done the same thing' occurred to him. He preferred, 'all in a day's work Ma'am' but it was likely she wouldn't appreciate his warped sense of humour.

Rehearsing slowly the exchange of carabiners to re-emphasise the procedure seemed a prudent move after all they had endured. Melanie followed suit and they moved steadily, away from the wire restraints, along the curved skin of the torus to the airlock entry. Hitting a switch caused a sliding plate to move and reveal a control panel for the airlock. The first step of trying to empty the air from the chamber failed. He tried a reset sequence with no luck. Grabbing his screen, he got a status readout of the airlock. He scrunched his face in thought. It had been electronically secured. They had been locked out.

Melanie started fretting. "He's not going to let us in, is he?"

"He isn't or QARC isn't...it looks like the station is in protected mode."

"Can you countermand that? I saw you interacting with the computer before."

He pulled a quirky 'it-hurts-if-I-think' kind of face, and then realised the expression was wasted, with the growing glare making the transparent helmets too reflective. "Inside, with lots of time and no bulky gloves, I might be able to hack the controller...but not here." Nevertheless, he knew what to do.

Below the controls there was a tool box. It didn't take him long to use the cordless screw driver to open up the back of the control panel. He shorted the electronics cringing from a big blue spark that caused a puff of blue-white smoke to spew out. He waited for that to clear.

"How will that help?" Melanie was bemused that he would disable a control panel because it wasn't working.

Cal explained. "When the electronics are rendered inoperative it reverts to manual functioning. QARC's link is severed so it can't restrict access."

"Tell me how you know all this again," she queried warily.

"I was employed to..." he hesitated, "...to work on the station. So I gleaned some useful data from the station specifications manifest. It's like a handbook."

"A handbook?" her tone was dubious. He ignored the interrogative. Appearing diverted, he rummaged in the tool box. It was more of a neat rack with tools clipped in it but space jargon deigned to classify with a traditional bent. Eventually locating what he wanted, he extracted a large Allen key. A glance toward Melanie suggested that she was examining him. He wasn't going to divulge that he had scoured the computer's data banks for schematics, operational procedures and the station specifications; that his role had been authorised by the company CEO himself.

Using the Allen key he opened a hinged cover. Behind it were manual controls for the air compressor and the hatch. He hit the pump and felt the merest of vibrations from the smooth-running motor that was removing the air from the service entry airlock. He watched the gauge recording the depleting air pressure.

"Where did you come from?" It was clear that Melanie was bringing her suspicions into the open.

"I thought we had sorted out who the villain of the piece was."

"You're not going to tell me are you?" It was said with resignation and a touch of resentment.

A light turned green indicating that near vacuum in the airlock had been achieved. He pressed the door mechanism...nothing. He looked at Melanie, returned his attention to the controls and pressed again.

"I may have triggered a circuit breaker shorting out the automatic panel," Cal admitted over the intercom. He studied the rack of tools directing his helmet light toward the back. Reaching in, he withdrew a crank handle. "Some ideas never seem to age," he mused aloud.

"What?"

"A mechanical option...releasing the hatch from the outside."

"You mean anyone could come in?"

"It's not that simple." He reviewed in his mind the process. His acute memory recall came in handy with his work, and then there were these other times. He placed the crank in the hole and slid it to a groove in the metal. He rotated the handle three times clockwise. Halfway through the last rotation he felt some resistance and then a clunk as it came to a halt. Inserting it further to a second mark, he turned it three times in an anticlockwise direction with a similar result."

"...Know what you're doing?" The words suggested impatience but the tone communicated worry.

"Getting there."

This time he pushed the crank shaped lever all the way in to a flange on the rod. After half a turn clockwise the mechanism engaged. He needed to brace himself to apply the force required. He clinched his legs on the hinged cover to the side. It provided the necessary opposition to the impetus of unwinding the hatch.

Ten rotations of the finely threaded axis released the entry. The minutest nudge from the remaining gas helped swing the hatch open but it was barely perceptible. Cal motioned for Melanie to go in. She pushed herself and halted almost immediately having forgotten to disconnect her tether. Once she attached the free carabiner onto a ring inside the hatch, she undid the other link that had restricted her progress. Returning the implements to where they belonged, Cal made the transition more fluently and then he sealed the two of them inside.

***

Pressurised, having shed the bulky suits and exiting the D-2 airlock, Cal quickly opted for the maintenance space to regroup. He flexed his back which ached from the buffeting he'd received.

"You okay?" She'd seen him wince as he bent backwards.

"I'll be sore for a bit but...as my father used to say...I'll live."

"What do we do now?"

"We work out the best way to take the computer off-line." He was opening his screen as he replied.

Chapter 4

His intrusion into the command lines of the computer conveyed more bad news. He growled and gritted his teeth as he noted what was going on.

"What's wrong?" Melanie couldn't help questioning his annoyance.

"Everything! I can't understand why the guiding protocols are being eroded. The robots have been instructed to physically put us on the shuttle. They're also surrounding the computer centre."

"So, QARC is running the show." Her summation sounded fatalistic but her expression was wide eyed and bemused. "You know they always warned us that computers would take over one day. I just never thought I'd see it."

"QARC's fuzzy logic means it can interpret and synthesise scenarios but someone's pushing its buttons. From the data it's got there's no way it could conclude a threat to the computer centre."

"What are you saying?"

"Bailey knew I was going to 'fix the computer'." He mimed inverted commas with his fingers.

"So...Bailey's controlling the computer?"

"No...He's involved...but I think someone else...someone who has access codes, is modifying its program."

His last statement shook Melanie. Her face looked like thinking migrated to her expression, narrowing her eyes and creasing her brow. "You mean...someone else is on the station...Who?"

"Good question."

"So...it sounds hopeless. Should we try for a shuttle and escape before the robots corner us?" She was looking over his shoulder as his fingers raced across the touch screen searching layers, within the superstructure, of the station schematics. Cal's mind went on a divergent course to Melanie's suggestion. "There must be another way," he muttered, verbalising his intent. "Ah, there." He pointed to the screen. The lines upon lines were not easy to decipher. The girl's head went closer to the image trying to determine what it was that had drawn his attention.

"What are you pointing at?" she asked, irritated that she had to declare her ignorance about the technical plans before her.

Cal expanded the drawing and traced his finger along a marked conduit. "The air duct into the computer centre. It's big enough for me to sneak into the area...but with the bots all around I may have to do something more drastic than shut down the processors. I may have to cut the power feed, not just shut it off.

"Can you do that?"

"A pair of long handled bolt cutters should do it." He swiped from that screen to an inventory. It informed him precisely on storage details and where he'd find the bolt cutters.

Melanie looked a little forlorn. "What will I do while you're crawling through air vents?"

He looked at her. The station was a big place and she clearly didn't relish being left alone with no contact. He began swiping through the stores' inventory again. When he found what he was looking for he spoke, "I'll get you to watch my entry point. I will give you a handheld communicator and you can tell me if you see Bailey or any robots wandering around."

"So, I'll go with you?"

"Most of the way. I don't want to crawl too far through those ducts...just far enough to remain undetected."

The last several hours had been hectic. Melanie suggested they get some sustenance and map out a plan beyond the shutting down of the computer. "What about Bailey and this other person you suspect?"

"We keep out of their way...call Interspace security and tell them what's happened. Hopefully they get here and sought out Bailey and whoever's responsible for nobbling the computer." He looked at the girl. Her refreshed demeanour and smart appearance had deteriorated considerably through the ordeal she had endured.

"You okay?" Cal realised it was his first expression of concern for the girl. Suddenly conscious of her dishevelled condition, she ran a hand through her dark hair.

"I guess so, though, as I said, I could do with a snack and...er, a bit of a clean-up. Why don't we go to my quarters after going through storage? I have a fridge full of food"

"I take it you're in Section A?"

"Uh huh...and... Bailey might have your place monitored, mine should be safe because he probably thinks I'm floating out in space somewhere."

"He could have watched."

"No...while you were disconnecting yourself, he returned to the airlock. I think he decided to make sure we were stuck by locking us out."

The invitation to eat something quickly gained hold of him. The two of them moved tentatively from the service space into the storage level. Guided by the fastidiously organised inventory, the small radio devices, attached as a slim headset, and the bolt cutters were obtained with little fuss. The lack of mechanical guards was possibly due to their congregation around the computer centre. Cal argued that their forced entry by disabling the airlock must have been recorded by sensors connected to the computer. It was likely to have produced a response. Nevertheless, it was eerie walking the deserted corridors.

From where they were in Section D it was still a long walk to Section A. Melanie struck up a conversation. "So, tell me about yourself. Are you married?" She had an impish grin.

"No...never had the time... and maybe, I've never met the right girl."

"So...what is the right girl like...just for interest's sake of course?" Her eyes, jauntily angled, laughed at him.

He cleared his throat. This was hazardous territory. "Um...this may sound very...er... conservative, but someone who has high moral values...and a faith in God."

"Are you serious? You're a computer scientist...belief in God?"

"I was raised in a Christian family and...well, what I saw in my parents, what I see in my sister...it's that intangible quality that means their focus is not on themselves."

"Wow...I can see why you haven't met Miss Right...she doesn't exist."

"I, I think you misunderstand me. Not perfect...just not self-centred. My sister is like that. She cares, thinks about others and has a believable philosophy on life. For instance ...what's your philosophy on life?"

Suddenly the roles were reversed. Melanie struggled to digest the question. "Well...I guess...treat others the way you want to be treated and...I don't know...pursue happiness?"

"Mm...you know the first one is strongly supported by the Bible. That second one, that's the one that... well..." He winced as he searched for words. "My sister said it leads to 'me first' attitudes and behaviour."

"Ouch...well, I asked. So...you wouldn't consider a...a non-believer...no matter how good they were?"

"Who knows? I think I'd be insufferable to live with...I'm still not sure about what I believe to be true...for instance, Hayley, my sister, explained to me that if you chase after happiness, you'll only find disappointment—she said King Solomon discovered that. She also maintains that the Sermon on the Mount revealed that if you live the way Jesus described, happiness comes to you."

"Your sister's really serious about Christianity?"

"Yeah...maybe she's overboard. I don't know...I keep telling myself I'll sort myself out one day."

"So, you're not committed?"

Cal abruptly stopped. "You sound like my sister," he complained.

"Sorry. That's not what I meant. You're keeping your options open—being flexible. I think that's a good thing. That's what I meant." Her words tailed off. Melanie was beginning to wish she hadn't delved into such a touchy subject.

He was not so sure that indifference was a laudable quality. His grimacing expression advertised the pang of guilt he felt for pushing into the background all that his family counted as crucial. He had rationalised his stance many times over; his studies, then his job and then his research had all taken precedence over faith.

She grabbed his hand. "Come on, we've got work to do, and I'm starving." They strode off together like that, keen to find refuge and something to eat.

The sudden contact was unexpected. Maybe Melanie was the sort of girl he could really like. She was intelligent, easy to talk to, had a friendly personality and was not unattractive. And, she seemed to like him. In the past, he had been dismissive of feminine company. His work was too important, he had argued. Deep down he wondered whether it was that one girl in his teen years, who had shunned him when he had let her know his feelings, that had made him insecure. He had been vulnerable and he wasn't going to be in that position again.

It took a few minutes for him to extract his hand from hers on the pretence that it was important to check his device for an update on QARC. Stopping at the stairs leading up to the next level—the accommodation level—Cal insinuated his snoop-ware into the companion computer to see what resolutions the quantum processor was considering. He held his breath momentarily. The commands were becoming, successively more dramatic. "QARC's instructing bots to crush us!"

"What!"

"I'd say someone is bypassing all the certified protection protocols...whatever happened to Asimov's three robotic laws?" Cal mused audibly.

"What are you talking about?"

"Something that should be hard wired into all AI devices..." He saw that she appeared none the wiser and appended. "Ethics and AI...our technology is outstripping our parameters for controlling it."

"Ah...the McAllister Proposition! Ethical Controls on AI Programmers and their Consequent Effect on Machine Ethics," Melanie cited the sub heading of the much-quoted tome which had become an academic standard but still hadn't been adopted by the technologists.

"Yeah, Legislating Robotic Behaviour...that's the one."

"You know the lobby group arguing for purely logical decision making has stalled that debate, don't you?"

The young IT specialist stared at her. "You know about that but you haven't heard of Asimov?"

"Wasn't in the Philosophy of AI elective I took."

"So what was your job here?" He felt it was somewhat remiss of him to leave such key information to this late juncture but, in his defence, he argued, they had been preoccupied.

"Space Medicine and Physiology."

"You're a doctor?" He seemed surprised because of her apparent youthfulness. "How old are you?"

She laughed and he felt like he wanted to back pedal and withdraw the question.

"I'm twenty-five and I just qualified...This is my first position." She grinned cheesily. "So, can I ask how old you are?"

Things were getting far too personal and he only had himself to blame. "Twenty-seven." He felt he should justify his ham-fisted inquisitiveness. "I only asked because you don't look old enough to have completed your medical degree." The ramifications of what he said crossed his mind even as the words spilled out. He was getting himself in deeper. Why didn't he bite his tongue?

It was clear Melanie was relishing his discomfort. "Why, thank you...I'll take that as a compliment. And may I say, you look a young twenty-seven."

He forced a toothy smile. "Let's..." he scrabbled for a way out of the conversation that wouldn't get him more embarrassment. "Let's get something to eat."

***

Considering the plight they were in, the bantering had been an incongruous distraction. Cal could only credit Melanie's playful mood to the relief she experienced, of surviving a life-threatening episode, caused by a rush of endorphins. In the mausoleum quietness of the deserted corridors, the interchange was an affected repartee that bolstered their confidence and obscured their underlying fears.

Things were more subdued between them in her room. Now that he was confronted with the prospect of squirming through narrow ventilation shafts, Cal was disturbed. He sipped a fruit juice and then munched on a muesli bar. At least one person, and, most likely, another as well, would do everything possible to snuff him out. The space station was the prize; but it was a conundrum. To what purpose...and who was so determined to take control of the multi-billion dollar facility?

The girl, too, was pensive. She swilled her drink, watching it swirl, as if to divine some inspiration or discern some comfort that eluded her.

"What's wrong?" Cal broke the silence, recognising her troubled state.

"I guess the idea that God could be true...that all that talk about peace, happiness and morality having a basis in faith is unsettling. What if I died out there? If I died and never came to terms with what we're really here for?"

It was Cal's turn to avoid confronting the implications of a transcendent existence. "When we get back on the ground, I'll introduce you to my sister. She'll bring you up to speed on believing." He gave a hollow laugh. "Have you got other siblings?" He neatly sidestepped the topic.

"Two sisters and a brother...all younger."

"That's a busy family compared to ours."

"It does get riotous sometimes. We had a sock fight last Christmas...broke Mum's antique lamp. She was not happy." It brought a smile back to her face. Her look at him somehow distilled out the small talk and she zeroed in on their predicament. "Who's behind all this...do you think? Who would want to hijack a space station?"

Cal shrugged. "A country...maybe a renegade military force...could even be high tech criminals, but whoever it is, I can't believe they'll get away with it."

Cal worked on his screen then, to identify the best entry point to the ventilation system. As they left, radio communication was tested and he brought with him the few implements he deemed necessary for the task. Padding quietly, wearing the thick socks most occupants wore, the two of them made their way to near midway of the level below the middle level of 'A section', still some distance from his destination obscured by the curve of the torus. This large area was dedicated to QARC, its attendant companion computer and several peripheral data banks and backup systems. It was the nerve centre of the station. On one side, encased in shielded walls was the nuclear power plant. Between the plant and the computer centre was a room dedicated to banks of metal hydride batteries which would provide an uninterrupted power supply (UPS) to the computer room. The circuit would have to be cut between the UPS and the computers otherwise current feeding from the solar array transferred from the other side of the station would keep it powered up via the UPS. Breaking the solar electricity connection as well, would also be ineffective as the installation could still run for days on stored energy. No, Cal knew he had to physically sever wires between the UPS and QARC and its collection of processors to shut it down. It wouldn't be disastrous for the systems, merely inconvenient. This was because all life support systems were operated by in situ computers under instructions from the nerve centre, they would continue to operate autonomously under nominal criteria. But each would have to be accessed individually to alter settings.

Cal climbed a side access ladder and removed a vent cover on a shaft going around below the middle level with side connections to each room and regular links to upper levels.

"Be careful," Melanie whispered into her microphone.

"Meet you inside the computer centre when I've finished," he stated blandly. Then he raised himself up into the shaft before requesting that she pass the bolt cutters to him. She gazed up as he wiggled and wriggled away, pushing the bolt cutters ahead of him. No longer seeing him, Melanie still heard his scuffling, scraping progress along the confining metallic shaft.

"Are you okay?" Her words sounded quietly in his earpiece.

"It's dark in here. I should have brought a light...Oh there's some light through the next vent up. I go to the third one don't I?" He said it more for confirmation for himself.

"That's what you said." Melanie's reply admitted that she didn't fully attend to his commentary on the air ducts schematic.

'Only fifty metres' he had thought. But the fifty metres that he had to snake and squeeze and slide along the metal channel was a torturous struggle. The gruelling effort challenged dormant muscles which protested his every ungainly contortion. Cal was trying to stifle his wheezing gasps and his involuntary grunts, especially after he had turned down the computer room trunk and as he approached the final vent. Melanie enquired about his progress at regular intervals and it wasn't until this last call that he gave more than a perfunctory response. Now he reported, with a low voice, where he was, and the limited field of vision through the course mesh of the air duct cover. It was more to regain his breath and muster his courage than provide information, and he decided it would also quell Melanie's fears to keep in contact.

A small open palmed jolt with his hand popped the vent above, and he gently set it aside. Stretching up he looked around the large room. The screen interfaces, keyboards and output devices were all in an open desk area. There was provision for numerous personal computers, tablet devices and communicators to be networked to the companion supercomputer which melded with the quantum processor. Behind this interface area was a heavily insulated cryogenic room. Inside this were the sealed containers providing near absolute zero temperature for both the super computer and quantum computer processors.

Quickly Cal gained access to the cryogenic room, using his device to provide the encrypted code necessary. Then, using a small battery screwdriver, he removed a panel on the large supply control box near the second supercooled container. Inside, cables were situated there from the reactor and solar panels to the UPS and from the UPS to the computers. After studying the complex configuration of cables, he opened the jaws of the cutter. This was irreversible, in the short term at least. Once severed, robots would cease to function, integrated systems would become isolated and no longer automatically coordinated and, hopefully, the space station would become a safe place again. He took a deep breath and then jammed the long handles of the cutter shut. A blue white arcing spark and ear shattering bang from the live cable jolted him off his feet. He flayed his arms as he fell backwards. Acrid ozone filled the air. He lay stunned, thankful for the rubberised handles on the bolt cutters.

"Cal, are you all right...can you hear me? Cal?" The refrain was repeated several times before they penetrated his dazed state.

"I'm okay...just got a bit of a kick from the charge."

"Is it all shut down?"

"I'm fairly sure... but I'll check. Meet me in the master control room next to the computer centre." She answered affirmatively, "Right, I'll be there in a minute."

He reflected that sitting on a largely metal surface could have been the end of him. He was grateful the circuit breaker shut down the feed. He hauled himself upright and examined the terminals. Both major computers were off. A brief survey of other dials informed him that the damage was more significant than he had planned. The cryogenic condition for the computers had been compromised. The reason became apparent very quickly as Cal noted that the Adiabatic Demagnetiser Refrigerator (ADF) had stopped working. The current surge he had caused had resulted in either collateral triggering of surge protectors or actual damage to the circuits.

He moved into the adjoining offices. This was, in essence, the command centre of the station. There were offices for the commander of the station and all the subordinate leaders of each discrete function on board. Of course, only the shakedown crew had been on board and none of the ranking officials had taken residence. He wandered over to the coms area. Everything here still appeared to be operational. Making a call to Interspace head office and giving them a status report would be essential.

Instinctively, he glanced at his watch. Something was wrong. Where was Melanie? There was a loud crash from outside the door. He rushed toward it and collided into Melanie, who was entering at the same time. Gripping onto her to prevent her rebounding, Cal regained his balance. He released her amidst her giggled response, "You are pleased to see me."

"What happened?"

"Well, I get to the door and a robot is rigid, right in front of the handle and stopping me getting past. I tried shoving it aside—those things are heavy! In the end I got my hands around its head and pulled using my foot against the wall to brace myself...and it crashed."

"It made a racket. If anyone is around, they'll know where we are."

"Bailey? Would he dare? We've shut the computer down...he's beaten, isn't he?"

Melanie waited for a reply but Cal looked like he was engrossed in some internal rationalising.

"Cal? ... What should we do now?"

"I think I need to call my boss...and then we'll call Gardiner Talbot."

"You're calling Talbot himself?"

"I'm sure he's a bit worried about what's happened to his huge investment."

"What do you think he'll do?"

Cal rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. The stubble on his chin was a reminder that he'd been on the go for over twenty-four hours. He hated being unshaven, feeling grotty. "I'd recommend he sends a security team. They have to find Bailey and...and I have to tell them I think there's someone else on board who was tweaking the computer."

***

There was a coffee machine in a designated lunch room. Cal asked if Melanie could make them drinks while he called his boss, Carson Temple. Her lip pouted slightly before she relented. Though curious, it was clear to her that Cal's role had been, in the first instance, confidential. And though he had, because of the grim circumstances, disclosed some of his purpose on the craft, she supposed he was entitled to confer with his superior in private.

She glanced over at him through the glass. He was turning off his communicator so she couldn't eavesdrop. With competent ease, he operated the video-com. Melanie watched as a pale, white haired man appeared on the screen. The man must have been Carson Temple. He didn't look old, merely prematurely white haired. They conversed. Carson shook his head in what appeared to be disbelief. He listened and nodded occasionally as Cal briefed him. A look from Cal toward her made her suddenly avert her gaze and begin the task she had been set. "Six years of tertiary study and I'm making coffees," she mumbled.

By the time she had arranged the cups, sugar, cream and some cookies on a tray and was bringing them in, the call to Temple had finished. "How would you like your coffee sir?" she overacted her servitude. "And I hope you like the cookies."

"How very kind of you," he returned, trying to upstage her.

"Don't give me that...I know when I've been dismissed." Her ironic smile was inscrutable. Was she annoyed or taunting him?

"My apologies." He held up both hands defensively. "Why don't you call Talbot...find out what he wants us to do?"

"Me? Call Gardiner Talbot...er no. Probably not a good career move to call the head honcho and tell him we killed his computer...uh, uh...you can do that job."

He sipped the aromatic drink and closed his eyes, savouring it like it was some sort of miraculous restorative elixir. She sat near him at the coms desk and scrutinised the man who was proving to be an enigma. "What are you going to say to him...Talbot I mean?"

"Tell him what's happened...That he's been betrayed by some of his own employees...that the computers had to be disabled and that he needs to send a security team."

"Do you think you can get on to him?" She was envisaging a lengthy battle through channels to get to the most influential man in the company and probably one of the most recognised in the country if not the world.

"I think I'll manage."

Cal returned to the home screen of the communicator application. He typed in Gardiner Talbot's personal address. The screen flickered. A female face appeared. "Gardiner Talbot's video-com, Chloe speaking."

For a moment he was flummoxed. The attractive girl looked at him with barely concealed mirth. "Yes...could you state your name and what your business is with Mr Talbot?"

He stuttered and stumbled over his words. Her direct gaze was unnerving. It wasn't as if he could blurt out the words he had rehearsed in his head to this stranger. Bad news, confidential information about the failure of systems and the damaging attack on his fourth-generation quantum computer was strictly for Gardiner's hearing only.

"Um...er...I need to speak with Mr Talbot confidentially."

She became more abrupt. "With whom am I speaking, please?"

"Er...this is Calvin Dorner. It is urgent that I speak with Mr Talbot." She turned and repeated his name. He heard a mumbled reply. She fixed her eyes back on him. "Mr Talbot will speak with you directly...please wait." She rose and left the interface picture. Cal wondered why he would let a secretary answer his personal communicator. Maybe she was a trusted PA. Whoever she was she didn't seem too pleased to be left out of the loop.

Half a minute later, Talbot's tanned face appeared on the screen. In his early fifties, the IT and space industry mogul looked young and energetic for his age. A few dark curly locks of hair splayed across his forehead. "Ahh, Dorner, Carson said you'd be in touch when you've sorted things out. What's wrong with the reactor?"

"Nothing Mr Talbot. The computer was providing misleading information."

"What! How is that possible?"

In the ensuing minutes Cal went on to describe the chaos being wrought by the station's operating system governed by QARC's decision making software. He described Bailey's treacherous antics of trying to lock them out but abstained when it came to the details. He mentioned robotic opposition, his theory of another entity being complicit in corrupting programs and he ended with an underplayed retelling of how it had been necessary to disable the computers.

"I'm afraid the system sustained serious electrical damage...but it was essential to prevent the AI taking control for someone else's criminal purpose."

Talbot appeared to study Cal. His mouth twitched to one side as if recording his processing of the crisis.

"What do you recommend we do?"

Cal was confident, firm with his advice. "Send a security team to apprehend Bailey and whatever accomplices he has. Send some electricians and maintenance engineers...some external safety cabling and an airlock need repairs. Um...I have the codes to reboot the computer. When the electricity supply is fixed, I can begin resetting its operating parameters and install a security key for only your most trusted programmers."

"Why is that necessary?"

"Well...it's got to be one of your programming team that's hacked the operating system...I've seen the protocols...only someone with the encryption key could have got in and altered the software instructions."

"So...only my most trusted programmer?"

"That's what I suggest."

"Right, leave it with me. Expect a team within the next day...and, Dorner...good job. Engels was right in recommending you. I'm glad Carson could spare you."

Cal didn't tell him he came off his vacation and only told Carson after he'd arrived at the station.

A voice from behind him made Gardiner Talbot turn and listen. He nodded and addressed Cal.

"Who did you say was still with you?"

"Er...Melanie," he struggled as he turned to the girl, expecting her to provide her surname.

"Let me talk with her." Cal nodded and beckoned to Melanie to take his seat."

"What's your full name young lady?" he began.

"Melanie Rose."

"What's was your role on the station?"

"Medical and physiology, sir."

"Melanie, could you ask Dorner to leave while we talk privately for a bit?" She turned her head but didn't need to say anything. Cal's eyes opened wide and his lips pressed together in resignation. This was where his veracity was put under the spotlight.

Melanie looked back at the screen. "He heard you sir. He's moving off to the lunchroom." As he walked away, he heard the CEO's voice. "So, Melanie...is there anything you need? Are you holding up under all that stress?" She was an employee, Cal concluded; that's why he was concerned for her well-being. His own occupation was a trouble shooter so there was an expectation that he would deal with crises with an experienced hand. Also, he was being paid handsomely to solve problems. Four times already he had worked on privately owned satellites in orbit to repair or rehabilitate them. All the same, he was a bit miffed that his welfare was taken for granted.

Occasionally, through the window, Cal would check out the secretive conversation. Was she giving her version of events? Did he ask her opinion about Cal's actions? Could the computers have been spared the impairment to their operation? He'd asked himself that same question. The presence of the robot opposition had complicated his actions. No doubt his abrupt appearance out of nowhere would colour Melanie's perception of his motives. She probably didn't comprehend the need for unheralded, non-intrusive and discreet monitoring of an operating AI regime. The correlation between his appearance and the crisis could also blur the true state of affairs in her mind. He watched closely. What did the nodding of her head mean? How could a confidential talk, excluding him, assist in resolving the breakdown of the integrated controlling software? He shook his head. He had to stop second guessing the conversation.

When Cal was starting to worry, again, about his culpability in shutting down the computer, Melanie signalled for him to join her.

Talbot's first question put him on the defensive. "Dorner, have you seen any sign of this third party you speak of?"

"No, but..."

"Melanie tells me that all the departures accounted for those on board, even the tragic demise of Paolo Roselli. Only the two of you and Bailey Wallace should be still on board."

"That's the point isn't it?" Cal was becoming surly.

"What do you mean?"

"All, arrivals, departures, movements and bodily presences are monitored by the surveillance properties of the space station. These are processed by the computer system. But if someone is manipulating the computer system then your data is unreliable at best and nonsense...as in the alleged defunct reactor...at worst."

"No one has bumped into this elusive party." He was becoming sarcastic and Cal answered in kind.

"No one bumped into me." His integrity, his motives were being called into question. He was inclined to quit. The distrust being implied had painted him as the most likely cause when all he had done was try and rectify the products of the infected programming.

"All right..." Talbot sighed, "We'll try and sort it all out when we arrive...signing off."

"We?" Cal tried to digest the last comment. Was Gardiner Talbot, himself, coming to investigate what had happened to his mighty space station?

Melanie looked up at him her lip quivered in a half smile. He folded his arms and scowled. "What did you tell him? He thinks I caused all this."

"I...I just answered his questions. Someone was prompting him off screen. Basically, the suggestion is that there is no evidence that anyone else, but us two and Bailey, is here."

"Only the obvious evidence," sneered Cal. "Someone was interfering with the computer."

"The inference was that you have the capability and it happened when you came on board." It was clear that Talbot and his off sider had sown doubts in Melanie's head now.

"That's crazy! Did you tell him how I rescued you all? How Bailey tried to get rid of us...how I saved your life?" Even as he said it, Cal had a bad taste in his mouth. His parents had always affirmed that you don't boast about your own accomplishments; it leaves no room for other people's praise.

"No..." her muted reply betrayed her chagrin. "It didn't come up...I...I was overawed...I just answered questions..." Her moist eyes showed that she was upset. "I'm sorry." A tear ran down her cheek. He swallowed a lump in his throat.

"It's not your fault. I mean...I'm asking them to distrust their own employees and their own systems and believe that my presence, while all this happened, is merely a coincidence." His mollifying words produced more tears and Melanie brushed them away with the back of her hand. "I'll call him back and explain," she offered weakly.

"No...that's not necessary. I'll talk with them...if I can't ease their suspicions then they'll have to get someone else to audit the programs." He left it at that. Another question piqued his curiosity. "How come Talbot didn't know who you are?"

"I was a late inclusion by mission personnel and HR. It seems somebody suddenly thought it might be a good idea to have a physician with training in space medicine. I was the only one willing to leave on short notice."

Fatigued by the challenges they had endured, both sought refuge in the accommodation section. There were plenty of vacant units for Cal to choose from. He selected one nearest the stairs going up to the control centre. He strongly advised Melanie that she lock her door. With Bailey still about and his suspicion that he had a partner in crime, it was best to be vigilant. How that could be achieved, as they both sank into the oblivion of sleep, was not clear.

Chapter 5

Cal slept for five hours and woke convinced that he had overlooked something. He performed a survey of the systems still manageable from the control room. Energy use was minimal and the data on the reactor was now rectified—it no longer projected an irretrievable meltdown—temperature and atmospherics were on spec and orbital position was optimal. He assessed the peripheral systems. Robot status was located in the adjoining operations part of the admin section but was inconsequential since they would now only function under direct operator control. The horticultural and water supply sensors were unnecessary for his purposes but a quick glance showed all as it should be. He kept wandering around the control room but he couldn't identify what was gnawing at him.

It wasn't until he came to the crew activity census that it dawned on him. That was how he could locate Bailey and whoever. The display was blank. Normally it gave an overview of every infrared source on the station and could zero in on any location. He pressed the switch several times, gave it a thump and then tried to look behind it to see if there was an errant feed cable. Nothing worked. It had been disabled. They would have to be on their guard. With Bailey lurking about and having established homicidal tendencies, he would still be a threat.

The situation led Cal to consider some form of weapon. There were certainly no guns on board. Perhaps a knife from the dining room, a bowling pin from the recreation area or some weights or a bar from the gym would provide some form of defence. Maybe they could lock the control and operational areas of section A and remain there. Yet, somehow, he couldn't envisage a physical tussle. Bailey was more conniving, more subtle than that.

Cal made himself some breakfast and began wondering whether he should have woken Melanie. It was not often that his work brought him into the company of women. Melanie's presence had stirred a feeling within that suggested this was a dimension of his life that was distinctly lacking. With his sister's situation in mind—her disability, if not precluding, certainly hampering her marital prospects; he had been ambivalent about developing anything more than passing friendships. He imagined she would be bitter confronting her own loneliness if he found a life partner. She had never intimated that it was an issue, however it was a reality he struggled with. So he had steered clear of entanglements. But the comely doctor's presence had underscored that, after all, he was a relational being. Not that Melanie was the one or anything like that. She was pretty, likeable, and they had talked quite easily, but they were different. He could be friends, he thought, but he was unable to quantify what was missing.

His concern grew by the time he had finished eating and Melanie hadn't appeared yet. He made his way to her room. By the third knock he was beginning to think the worst. That was when the door opened and she appeared fresh faced and smiling. "Couldn't wait to see me hey!" she quipped.

"I was getting worried," he admitted.

"I slept heavily...needed a nice hot shower to get me moving." She took his arm and they began walking to the control centre. "What's the plan for today...today doesn't have much meaning here does it?"

"It's two a.m. UTC which makes it seven at station time...but you're right, in this place there are planned work shifts right around the clock."

"I'll take seven...Do you always talk like you're a walking encyclopedia?"

"Sorry."

"You didn't answer me about what we're doing."

"You need to eat...I've already had breakfast...and then we'll try and lock as many entry points as we can so that Bailey doesn't surprise us."

"That's it? And just wait around for them to arrive...Do you think he meant he was coming...you know Talbot?"

"Sounded like it."

"I can't believe it...Gardiner Talbot himself coming to the space station."

"It's not unprecedented. He came out on their human transporter as a staged media event when the torus structure was complete and the first portion of 'A module' had been pressurised."

Cal came into the dining area with Melanie and began making coffees. Her muesli and fruit juice fare cast his toast with eggs and bacon in bad light, nutritionally. She viewed him with a crooked smile. "What?" He reacted when he noticed her brief adjournment, head tilted and curious look.

"So we wait...I mean after we've isolated this module?" she repeated the question.

"That's the plan...though I might try checking out the Human Imaging Device, see if I can fix it. That might help us locate any other passengers." The way he said it revealed that he was still worried about Bailey and other co-conspirators. He then explained his theory that the sensors had been deactivated intentionally to conceal human presence.

Cal sat down with his coffee after placing the other in front of Melanie.

"Thanks...Tell me, how come the robots didn't find you? I take it the HID was working when we were being rounded up?"

"It's a bit weird. I had a bit of a memory blackout after the event. The details only became clearer after I examined the computer log." He omitted relating the prompt his sister's card had given.

"So what happened?"

"I guess I was located by HID and I ran from the bots. I found myself in strut C and immersed myself in the water tank. I assumed the heat signature couldn't be seen in there. I was in there for about an hour. It was so cold. Then I went back to my room—my area around C sector had all detection sensors shut down."

"Did you do that?"

Cal made a squinty eyed lop-sided grin in answer.

Melanie embarked on interpreting what he said earlier. "You know extreme cold can cause amnesia...usually temporary, but it would explain why you had trouble remembering. It's not usually core memories—who you are and that sort of thing—but events and recent situations."

"I couldn't even remember my job to begin with."

Melanie nodded. "That's what I mean...short term stuff. Sounds like you actually recovered quite quickly. Some people take a day or two depending on the extent of trauma."

They talked for some time. Melanie shared her single-minded drive to study medicine and qualify. Her determination from an early age had accelerated her learning, gained her early admittance into university and enabled her to score honours in academic units. At times Cal half listened to her recent study history and sometimes, when she was regaling some minor victory on rounds or some perceptive diagnosis she'd made, he would speculate about her desirability. In terms of looks and amiability, Melanie was the kind of girl he could really like. But on the flip side, her preoccupation with her own achievements, her self-sufficient mindset and her self-assured perspective grated on him. At the same time, it made for some introspection about his own ego. He was much like her. Another thing he found alluring and objectionable, in a contradictive tension, was her impudence. It was unmistakable in her overt flirting, so, while stroking his ego, for some reason, it made her more unattractive, character wise. Maybe it was because she knew she was easy on the eye, even winsome, and, deep within, that repelled Cal. To be drawn and repelled at the same time was a paradox. He reflected that it was probably his own pride. He wouldn't submit to gratify her ego by predictably yielding to her wants.

She interrupted his inattention. "Did you hear what I said?" She tutted, "I bet you weren't even listening."

"What? ... Sorry...er your internship sounded really interesting." He faltered in a vain attempt to bluff his way out."

"Didn't hear a word, hey? I asked what studies you took to get qualified. Say, what do you call your job?"

"I call it an IT specialist." He didn't say that he thought it tiresome to describe his occupation and usually told people that he worked in IT. The fact that he had combined degrees in microelectronics, engineering and research in quantum algorithms, and that it had made him much sought after in systems analysis and design, he decided was far too complex to communicate. Talking about what he did was fraught with the risks of going into technical details and becoming enamoured by his own expertise. He considered others bores, prattling about themselves, and he refused to be a tiresome self-promoter. He decided that being self-absorbed was bad enough, and he would admit to that to a close few, but advertising it was irksome.

Melanie again appraised him with suspicion. "IT specialist...that's a bit vague isn't it? I mean, what are you...a software engineer, systems analyst, programmer or are you more electronics and microcircuit design?"

Cal grinned. "They're all good questions. Think of me as a generalist...a bit of everything. I don't really fit a specific category."

"You're avoiding the question. What have you got to hide?"

"That's not true; I answered the question. But if it's an issue with you, you can call me a programmer or an analyst...they're just labels anyway."

The young doctor was becoming aggravated. "I told you about myself...why don't you open up as well? For instance, what courses, what qualifications did you end up with?"

"Well...I'm still studying, still learning and I've dipped into a variety of IT courses. That's why I call myself a generalist." He refrained from mentioning his Computer Science PhD paper researching 'limits of adaptive reasoning in AI using statistical data'. He also thought his current experience could add another chapter or two since assumptions about controlling inputs—i.e. guidelines for decision making— dictated the reliance on output. In short, the machines had no moral compass and only displayed the inclinations of the software designers.

Melanie gave the familiar crooked smile. "So why don't you like to talk about yourself? You seem to be really smart at what you do...I don't get it...I'm intrigued by your air of mystery."

"My parents used to say, 'don't blow your own trumpet'." He remembered his recent recitation to her of his 'heroic acts', highlighting what she had failed to communicate to Talbot and how he thought his pure motives should be above suspicion. "Sometimes I break that rule...but not this time." His words sounded flat.

"You'll just be stating the truth about your achievements. There's nothing wrong with that."

He almost retorted, 'like you did'; instead he pressed his tongue against his top teeth and said nothing. When she started hinting her growing interest in him, suggesting that 'strong minded men' like him were appealing to her, Cal collected their dishes and decided that domestic duties were of prime importance.

***

A few hours were spent examining the stand alone workstations that had been in harmony with the master computers but now operated separately and had distinct functions. Using the access hatch controller that ensured pressure integrity over the fifteen separate sectors of the torus, Cal managed to isolate the control room sector and the adjacent living area in section A. These pressure doors could still be over-ridden manually but an alarm would alert them of the breach. His efforts with the infra-red imaging system proved a test for his skills. It required him to reattach power and data cables that had been severed inside the console. The destructive miscreant had clearly hoped to delay any surveillance for as long as possible because the software interpreting the sensor signals had been deleted. Cal sighed. Rewriting the program was possible but far too time consuming. He would download a copy available to him from a backup satellite cache of the space station's software. It would take far less time. However, because of their different orbits, he would have to wait for the satellite to be in position.

All the while he worked, Melanie watched as he 'fiddled with his machines'. She felt snubbed that he hadn't responded to her friendly, even affectionate, representations. She wasn't used to being ignored. Men usually clamoured over her and Cal's coolness toward her made her irate. Her comments about his work were tetchy and tinged with sarcasm. He was thankful when they heard from Talbot that the relief team would arrive within the hour. The company of space farers had transferred from the Interspace orbiting docking station to a shuttle—one of the craft that the evacuated crew had left there when boarding an Earth Lander. Cal briefly envisaged the scene. The landers had Earth landing capabilities while the shuttles were light and manoeuvrable, not requiring much structural strength since they worked in near zero gravity. Cal thought it was an elegant solution and one that had been repeated for the Mars docking station and landers.

The new software for the infrared sensor computer had almost finished downloading when the call came through that Shuttle Six was docking at the hub. Cal was about to meet them when Melanie asked for a minute to adjust her appearance. She insisted that the owner of Interspace warranted her best. Melanie even went to the trouble of tying her hair into a tight bun to avoid it flaring all about in the weightless conditions of the hub. He had to admit that her expert application of minimal makeup magnified her allure. A touch of regret welled up inside him that he had rebuffed her advances. Even a hint of jealousy that she was now turning her attention to others and trying to impress them. What a fickle creature he was. The sage advice of Christian parents echoed in his mind. It was something to do with the deceit of outward appearances and the reality of the heart, the inner person, and that character outweighed all other qualities. Given his shallow thoughts, maybe his uprightness of character was lacking.

The corridors were deserted and their progress to the large 'arm A' went unhindered. The elevator took them rapidly to the hub. Special clips were attached from each hip to the wall to prevent them head-butting the elevator ceiling as it drew to a halt. Floating to the right side of the hub, the opposite end to their last visit, took little more than a minute. The docking procedure was nearing its completion and little was said between Cal and Melanie; both conscious that Cal would be put under the spotlight because of the intimations of him being the instigator of the computer malfunctions.

Once the hatch was opened several security men came out. They were equipped with Tasers and ensured the area was safe before informing the remainder of those on board. A few more passengers debarked and then Gardiner Talbot came out followed by the girl who had answered his video-com. She intrigued Cal. Not only was she good-looking but she also had, what he considered, untoward influence over Talbot. He again decided, she must have been more than a secretary; perhaps she was his personal assistant or business advisor.

"Welcome aboard sir," Melanie enthused. "It's a relief to see you guys. Things have been a mess here. Somebody's trying to sabotage your amazing space station." She floated alongside Talbot all the way to the central level and started replaying her ordeal, beginning with the forced detention she endured.

"Miss Rose, why don't we leave the stories until we find some gravity?" His voice was gruff. It seemed he didn't abide fawning behaviour. Cal hung back and waited for the elevator to return for its second load of passengers. Amongst those riding the elevator were an emergency maintenance crew. Cal struck up a conversation with them outlining some of the damage that needed repair.

Sauntering into the dining area in Section A with the second group, Cal was confronted by Talbot eyeing him critically. "Are you trying to avoid me Dorner?" he asked with a clear lack of humour. All heads had turned to take in the exchange. "No, why would I want to do that?"

"Why, exactly," re-joined Talbot. "I've been waiting for five minutes wondering where you got to. Didn't you realise I wanted to speak with you immediately? Why I came down here promptly? We need to get to the bottom of this and you seem to be the key."

"Did you say anything?" Cal was clearly aggrieved that he was being singled out. He wasn't filtering his answers with due consideration to the fact that the impressive man speaking was, by virtue of his contract, his employer.

Talbots gaze softened. "No...I don't suppose I did."

The young trouble shooter almost fired a salvo of his gripes... 'Did you even greet me? Did you thank me for rescuing your crew or for preventing the takeover of this station by a renegade AI computer?'

The thoughts remained unspoken. Talbot began again. He was more placating. "Perhaps, while the others get a meal going, you would join me in the Commander's office. We can discuss where we stand and...and, what's to be done."

"All right," conceded Cal. He trailed Talbot as the man moved off to the admin area. The girl followed him and he mused that this wasn't going to be a one on one tête-à-tête.

Once inside the office the mood became decidedly more inquisitorial. "So, Mr. Dorner...Cal isn't it?"

"Yes."

"What is Cal short for?"

"Calvin." The hushed reply was consonant with his distaste for his full name.

"Calvin! That's a good reformation name. What's the history?"

He was making small talk that Cal didn't appreciate. He forced a smile and said one word, "Parents."

"Sounds like you're a bit annoyed with them."

Cal took a steadying breath. "No...I'm sorry if it did. My parents love me...they have always wanted the best for me. I'm not rapt in their choice of name...they had their reasons...probably reformation inspired, but I have nothing against my parents."

The conversation had taken a bizarre turn, he looked about and saw the girl's eyes cast down at a folder on the desk in front of her. Her name eluded him. Was she laughing at him or preparing some notes? Talbot ambushed him with his first question. "So, who do you think has infiltrated the computer system?"

"I don't know...I would think you might have a better idea."

"Well, you postulated that someone is helping Bailey." He was rubbing his jaw as if there was some sort of indirect allusion that Cal should infer a response.

"What about the obvious question?" interposed the girl.

"You can ask him Chloe."

Chloe. That was her name. She obviously had influence with this formidable man. She lifted her face toward Cal. Her blue eyes flicked to his face then back to her folder. "Mr. Dorner, would you know how to reprogram the computer to behave the way it has?"

"Yes." Realisation hit him that he was being targeted.

"Convince us then that you didn't alter the code on the controlling computers." Her eyes were still down.

Cal stood, angry, indignant. "You're joking aren't you?" he uttered scathingly.

"You said you are capable. As far as we can see, you're the only one who had access. There were no issues before you came on board according to Melanie Rose."

He gritted his teeth. This was obscene. He spoke slowly. His voice quavered with rage. "You...Chloe..." His tone was menacing. "...are levelling accusations of sabotage against me on the pretext that...I could have done it! Amazing deductive work! You ignore the fact that I was hired to evaluate the system, but instead I had to...neutralise it...that I contacted Mr Talbot..." He paused. He wasn't going to stoop to itemising the risks he had taken or the people he had helped.

"That's what I can't understand..." Chloe continued, becoming argumentative. "You had the access key. You could have intervened and rewritten a script to bypass any corrupt code. Instead you took it offline in a very drastic manner." All this time Talbot had a quirky expression on his face as if he enjoyed the sparring.

"So you don't believe me. You're ignoring what I said."

"What's that?"

"That a third party is directing the changes to the program...Anything I did would reveal my hand and they could inhibit my access."

"So...where is this third party?" she disputed.

"I don't know." He was aghast. "You think he would show himself to back up my story?" he seethed caustically. "Maybe if you find Bailey, you'll find whoever is helping him."

Talbot's smooth voice interceded. "Perhaps, Chloe, we'll give Cal the benefit of the doubt. Given his expertise he may be able to assist in resetting the software. What do you think Cal?"

It took a moment for Cal to adjust to the new approach to him. "Well...yes, I certainly could...but...when we do reinstate the code, we need to make it tamper proof...put in some subroutines that apply parity checks and signal any tampering. I'm surprised the designers or programmers didn't think of it."

"Any hacker worth their salt could unpick a parity subroutine," sniped Chloe.

"You think?"

She nodded, "I'm sure."

"There is a way."

"Try me."

"There's a coupled supercomputer that could use high end prime algorithms to encrypt the parity check. It would stop hackers..." Chloe finished his sentence.

"But it won't stop someone with an access key; the whole point of which is to enable program modification."

Cal was surprised. "Are you a programmer?"

"One of the three responsible for QARC," she confided quietly but with assurance.

"Ah...that explains your presence here grilling me. I thought you were a secretary."

It was clear that Chloe was mildly insulted. She looked for support from Talbot. He smiled.

"Chloe is a much-valued member of staff...and...she is my daughter."

Stupefied briefly, while he reviewed the damage of his comments, Cal recalled that he had viewed her as a secretary and then he had intimated that she was an incompetent programmer.

"My apologies Miss Talbot," he began awkwardly. "And...given that you didn't interfere with the system, and I didn't," he added with emphasis. "Who are the other programmers who could have?"

"There were three of us, Michael Riordon and Ralph Barnet...but neither of them would betray the company."

"Yet I would?" He shook his head in dismay. Then turning to her father, he vented his frustration. "Mr Talbot, since neither your daughter or you have any trust in me to do my job, I suggest that I take leave of the station Earth bound. I'll be one less worry for you to deal with."

"There's no need for that...Perhaps we were a trifle hasty in pointing the finger. Answer some questions for me. Do you have any idea where Bailey is?"

"No."

"When did you last see him?"

"When he tried to detach Melanie from her EVA tether and strand her in space."

"What! When did this all happen? Why didn't you say something?"

"You were too busy accusing me of treachery to listen. I'm sure Melanie will give you the whole story if you ask the right questions." His hard done-by answer soured in his mind and he cut in before Talbot could say anything. "No...I'm sorry. I'm acting like a petulant child. You have no idea what we've been through so I have no right to be angry."

"So...Miss Rose will confirm this?"

"Ask her."

Father and daughter looked at each other. Chloe made a guilty, tight lipped face. Talbot went on. "Maybe we owe you an apology. Do you think QARC can be put back online safely? It represents a huge investment."

"I think so. And with the proper security measures it should be much harder to hack." He couldn't resist a glance in Chloe's direction. She gave an abbreviated nod. Her expression hadn't altered much.

"What other steps would you recommend?"

"Well, repairing the damaged electrics has to take priority...I told you about the repairs required on the airlock, the safety line...and the robots...I didn't mention them did I. A couple had to be disabled."

His wide-eyed stare prompted Cal to addend the comment. "Ask Melanie."

"All right...Is that it?"

There was something else, but his synaptic pathways failed to reveal the vagrant thought.

"There's always something else, but I can't think of anything."

He was asked to send Melanie in and get himself something to eat. Cal again mixed with the technicians and electrical engineers and discussed what had caused the damage to the computer and the best strategies to reconnect to the station's grid. It took a bit of explaining why QARC had to be incapacitated and not merely shut down. The concept that an adversary or two was still on board was novel to them. Cal describe how a security squad could ensure their safety while repairs were made and new code was entered.

The interview of the young doctor was quite lengthy and Cal began to imagine that negative theories about him were again being espoused. He distracted himself by getting to know Jake Tippet. He was a structural engineer who had been involved in several construction missions to the huge torus. He was a veteran of, what he referred to as, spacewalks. The two shared stories and Jake made a wry comment. "I hear you blew the lock on one of the air lock entries."

Cal shrugged. "A minor electrical short."

"So you knew the manual procedure?"

"Uh huh," Cal attested.

"Not many people are aware of that. How did you find out?"

"I had access to the confidential part of the comprehensive specifications manual. I needed to do an audit on computer functions."

Small talk ensued as Cal ate pizza. He listened to the speculation, among maintenance staff, regarding how a safety cable could snap and what happened to the two robots recently discovered with fried electronics. Cal elected not to enlighten them. There were some complaints that, with all the systems isolated, there was no master computer to run diagnostics. They reasoned amongst themselves that it would be difficult to ascertain if the computers were damaged until they opened them up. Some were arguing that the surge protectors would have intercepted the pulse of current produced by arcing and others had a conflicting point of view. Cal wished that Talbot's obsession of allotting blame would end. Getting the computers up and running was the priority as far as he was concerned.

***
Chapter 6

Later, in the central control room, all were present as Talbot outlined tasks and allocated work crews. The security team were split between providing protection for work crews and apprehending Bailey. This seemed to play on Talbot's mind since he referred to it a couple of times. Cal surmised that Melanie's retelling of events had sufficiently described Bailey's actions to arouse the man's ire. As he neared the end of the list he was reading from, he spoke slowly. "Herbert...You need to get the computers running quickly. I want your team to let me know when it's ready to fire up. Chloe, I need you to work with Cal on the new code. It has to be ready to upload once the system is restored...and it has to be secure!" He gazed around the room. "And another thing..." he tagged like a postscript, "Linley will distribute communicators to everyone. We'll need regular reports and immediate notice if something goes wrong or you see Bailey or anyone else not in this cohort."

For the first time Cal felt sympathy for Chloe. Her dad was virtually reprimanding her publicly for the computer system's vulnerability. He wanted to explain that if one of the programmers was responsible for the hacking then it would be impossible to prevent meddling with the software. To her credit, she remained stoic, gave him a tight smile and then fumbled in a carry bag for a portable computer.

"Right...get moving everyone. This has to happen now." As if to demonstrate his impatience Talbot clapped his hands and spoke louder. "Come on...move."

Chloe came over. "I have the original firmware and the application programs on this," she declared as she raised the device, slightly larger, more rigid and more capable than his computer. "Why don't we go into the lunchroom, get a coffee and start on the modifications?"

Cal went along with her and hovered as she used the coffee machine and enquired regarding his preference.

They were both sitting when Chloe tried to mend some fences. "I need to apologise to you...I...I had no idea you were instrumental in freeing the crew or rescuing Doctor Rose. It seems things would have been a lot worse if you hadn't acted...so...I'm sorry."

"Well, we haven't found our other programmer yet, so I suppose I'm still a prime suspect."

"You really think that Bailey had help?"

"He had to. I saw changes in QARC's operating procedures while he was with us. He wasn't the one making the changes. It's got to be a programmer...or, someone one of your team schooled on getting access." He looked up at Chloe from his computer which had informed him that the network was unavailable. She was smiling at him. It transformed her appearance. She was attractive and her lovely features lit up with the smile. He was unnerved. "What's so funny?"

"We were like mirror images, both talking and opening our computers at the same time. Tell me...what family do you have?"

Because he was put off balance by her gleeful gaze, he redirected the conversation to safer ground. "So...so, what was Bailey's role?"

"Human Resources, so it's likely he didn't have the skills." She skewed her head, "Why don't you want to talk about your family...unless...unless, it's too painful...I'm intruding aren't I?" It was as if all the possible family tragedies and personal afflictions suddenly occurred to her."

"No...no, it's nothing like that. I have great parents...a lovely sister...we get on well, I guess."

He studied her face. She was leaning forward keen to listen intently. Chloe, despite her elevated position, seemed genuinely interested in him. Was he going to quash an opportunity to befriend her by declaring his parent's faith—his faith? "I think, maybe, I miss them. Hayley, my sister is always sending encouraging notes." There was a queasy awareness within that he was committing some sin of omission by not proclaiming his beliefs. He tried to rationalise; 'Give it time. Ease it into the conversation when it's convenient.' "What about your family?" he abruptly asked in an effort to take the onus off himself.

"My dad, Gardiner, he's just amazing...when you get to know him. I mean he can be tough in business but he's a softy, really. Then there's Mum, Linda, she's a steady rock...keeps us grounded even though Dad runs the most successful commercial, launch and space technology company in the world. She looks after Jen, my younger sister and Spence, my little brother. They're both studying though neither want to work in space like me. Jen's doing a vet course and Spence keeps changing his mind. It was pure math and now he's doing particle physics...wants to be the first one to solve the Hydrogen fusion problem. He's really clever, he may just do it."

"Okay...you have been a bit more informative than I was." He wondered where he was heading now. His desire to relate to Chloe impeded any confession of faith. Instead, he rambled a little. "My parents are both teachers...and, I think Hayley wants to qualify too, after doing a science degree...if she can. Not as remarkable as your family." He said nothing about his sister's infirmity. It always led to the same sentimental pity that he struggled to handle.

Chloe shook her head vigorously. "Nonsense...we're just an ordinary family really. Maybe it's our Christian faith, but Dad said we could lose it all tomorrow and we shouldn't be any less content."

"That's easy to say...but billions of dollars?" He wondered why he was being contrary.

"You'd be surprised. Most of the money goes back into the business, but he supports several charities. I mean we live in a good house...we're not paupers but we're not extravagant either. As I said, the most important thing in our lives is our faith."

She was a Christian. It was a point of contact that he should share. "I'm a Christian too." The words sounded hollow in his ears. Like he was some neophyte recently joining a club and wanting to show solidarity.

"Oh?"

"Yes...I mentioned my name didn't I...the origins I mean? My parents thought that the ideals of the reformation were a suitable thing to bring to mind by naming me after Calvin." Chloe smiled and prompted, "What ideals do you mean?"

"You know..." He wracked his brain for the terms and thankfully they surfaced quickly. "...sola scriptura, sola fide, sola gratia, sola Christos and sola Gloria." Smugly, he smiled inwardly. Remembering those five solas was impressive.

"Maybe we'll talk about it a bit more when we have time. We better get down to this code."

***

As with many of his programming assignments, rather than reinventing scripts, Cal drew from his wealth of coded routines to provide ancillary protection within the firmware. The two of them embedded layers of parity checking algorithms around the sturdy guidelines originally governing the quantum processor. The statistically logical permutations produced by the multiple qubits would be appraised by software in the supercomputer and only the outcomes concordant with the guiding rules would be executed.

The exercise proved to be less onerous than first thought. With the copy of the original program on her computer now fortified with encrypted safeguards, there was little more to do but install it. And that had to wait until the repair crew had the cryogenic freezers operational and the computers on line.

"Do you want to wait here or do you want to go for a walk?" asked Chloe, bending backwards to un-cinch her back muscles.

"How about a coffee and snack first?" suggested Cal. "You're right though...sitting here for hours...well, I could do with some physical movement."

With cookies and hot drinks before them Cal tried to make conversation. "So...you would know this station fairly well I guess."

"No...not really. This is my first time aboard. I have seen all the plans and done a virtual walkthrough but being here is amazing." Chloe's eyes were lively and bright. He couldn't help being drawn to her. "What about you? Have you seen much while you've been here?"

"Mm...a fair bit...and I've examined the virtual tours as well. The best parts, in my opinion, are the observation domes. You can sit next to the curved glass and almost feel like you're outside. I mean, it's not quite as spectacular as an EVA but you have time to take it all in...when you're outside you usually have a job to do."

"You've been outside, haven't you? That's when we almost lost Melanie."

Cal voiced assent uncertainly. "I've been out a few times for my job...there's nothing like it. But I have to admit going off tether was tense."

Chloe stood and grabbed the empty dishes. "I can do that," he protested.

"No...think of it as penance for the way I treated you." She grinned. There was a flutter within his chest. Nascent feelings of affection were stirring. He smiled but part of him chided; he didn't have time for personal relationships and, besides, she was way out of his league. How could he even contemplate anything more than friendship with the daughter of a multibillionaire?

He got to his feet as she deposited the dishes in the washer. "So...you didn't mention a girlfriend?" Chloe ventured.

"Too busy...I..." was his truncated reply. He had been cut off by Melanie brashly imposing her presence. "There you are!" she exclaimed. "I haven't expressed how grateful I am for rescuing me. She bustled up to him, embraced him and planted a kiss on his cheek." Talbot walked in at that moment and merely shook his head. He moved to the coffee machine and tried to ignore the youthful frivolity.

"Maybe I should leave you two," sniggered Chloe.

"Ah...no...I'm coming." He tried to wriggle out of Melanie's clutches. "Anyone would have done the same." He pulled an uncomfortable smile. "I should go." An awareness that her contact wasn't altogether unpleasant. "Where are you going?" the young doctor asked.

"Just checking out the station."

Melanie reluctantly released her arms from about his neck. "Mm...I've been asked to set up the clinic. One of the engineers has already been injured working on the freezer...low temperature burn. I'll catch you later." There was an inference that, somehow, their mutual trials had created an affiliation between them more substantial than acquaintances or co-workers.

"Yeah...sure." It was a lame reply. He thought they had covered this ground already. Someone more conversant with the dynamics of relationships would realise that competition always made players lift their game.

Cal exited the dining area with Chloe and when they were out of earshot she chuckled. "I thought you didn't have a girlfriend?"

"She was just grateful."

"Yes...very grateful. And a medical doctor...you could do worse," she ribbed.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you? Are you trying to match make for me?"

"What's it to me?" She became more defensive.

"That's what I want to know." He squinted a little, looking thoughtfully at her as she averted her gaze.

They remained initially quiet walking along the main level, the third from the inside of the torus, which had a higher ceiling and was more expansive than the other levels. Both were mulling over the vibrancy of their interactions. This level had ten atriums around the complete circuit with thick glass observation windows on both sides. These were placed midpoint between each large spoke and lesser strut to maximise viewing. At the first one lighting was dimmed and curtains drawn on either side to create the appropriate conditions. In the dark they paused and took in the vista before them.

"It's immense isn't it...so vast," breathed Chloe in awe.

"Bigger than we can imagine," proffered Cal.

The magnificent array of stars painting the coal black void with sprays and speckles kept their attention. Showing some awareness, Chloe pointed out the brighter red giants like Betelgeuse and Antares and the hotter Sirius and Canopus. He wasn't unmindful of celestial bodies and their locations but her leaning against him, placing her face near his, to point out each star was particularly warming and enjoyable.

They walked another sector to the next observation area and then went down a level to view the hydroponics. Section B had not been established yet but all the trays and racks were set up. Heading back to section A brought them to the functioning system. Rows of vegetables proliferated under shimmering lights. An agricultural scientist explained the nutrient film technique to them as he was slowly adding small plants to the line. He showed how the computer controlling the system really needed the master computer connection to assist with the distribution of carbon dioxide. An optimal balance of carbon dioxide and oxygen was necessary to maximise growth rates.

A buzz in Chloe's communicator had her answering the summons. "They've connected the computers and cryogenic systems," she announced, appearing as disappointed as he felt. The relaxed friendly company had been a balm after his manic problem solving, crisis mode activities.

"We better go," he sighed.

***

Once the power was on, Cal downloaded the corrupted software onto a large, solid state hard drive.

"Why don't we just delete and start again?" asked Chloe.

"Looking at how the programs were altered will tell us something about who did it and, maybe, what he was trying to achieve."

Her silent 'Oh' with associated head movement, registered her understanding. When the download was complete, the software was copied and examined. To avoid resetting the whole operating system to its initial pre empirical data so that all its functional history and adaptive responses weren't lost, Cal had to rewrite coding on the old software for the computer in that sector to modify its corrupted guidelines. Every confliction to its existing learned code had to be addressed with a query and overridden with a manual response to remove the conflict. Some would have to be isolated in an aberrant or deviant data file that would protect it from future manipulation, like a vaccine helps the immune system recognise virus infiltration. Eventually the altered files were deleted and the new circuitry with the modified firmware was inserted. Then the updated operating systems and software was introduced stepwise. Chloe concentrated on the installation while Cal worked on the flawed old program.

He examined the computer files sector by sector and uncovered subroutine triggers that caused the computer to begin reprogramming itself for autonomous operation. There was also a latent cache of instructions in the companion computer preprogramed into the operating system. Cal decided that the only way the computer system could have been compromised was through a mendacious operator betraying Interspace. Even as the certainty arose in his thinking, his oversight came to him. He hadn't engaged the infrared imaging surveillance. There were at least two beings that QARC would identify by their electronic IDs or the lack of them.

Chloe had vacated her padded armchair and was nearing the work desk where Cal had been immersed in his analysis when he abruptly clutched his head.

"What's wrong?"

"I repaired and reinstalled the crew monitoring device. We should have scanned for Bailey and any accomplices." He began striding to the annex room with the range of distinct computers.

"Wait," Chloe directed. "QARC has integrated all the peripherals now...pull it up on her."

"Her?"

"Well, guys never know what's going on," she jibed. They both sat at the main monitor.

They activated the station locator and entered 'Bailey' as the search parameter. Nothing appeared. When he assigned the category 'unidentified', two shapes shimmered on the screen. They were in the 'A Residential' sector.

"That's the executive suite!" exclaimed Chloe. "That's Dad's room," she elaborated as if it was necessary. It was clear that a third person was in the room and it was labelled 'Gardiner Talbot'.

"We have to get in there." Chloe was now agitated.

"Not so fast. It's likely they have a weapon. We have to work out how we can surprise them."

Chloe was beside herself. His mention of a weapon only made matters worse for her.

"What do we do? How can we get in there without someone getting hurt?" Cal wasn't really listening. He had slipped into his trouble shooting persona.

Break down the problem, was strategy number one. Three people in an inner room of a space station. One is probably being held hostage. Possible weapon, one main entry and impossible to sneak in without being seen. Goal is to rescue Gardiner unhurt, limit damage to station and limit injury to offenders.

Alter the conditions, was strategy two. What circumstances could be changed quickly and have most effect. They could cloud the air to reduce visibility. That would be too slow.

"Cal...we can't just sit here," she urged anxiously.

"Give me a sec...I'm thinking." He held up a hand as he said it as if he were stopping traffic. Absent-mindedly it remained in the air as he cogitated. They could switch the lights off. It would be instant and pitch black. And, instead of people rushing in, they could use manually controlled robots. The machines had infrared sensors and the operators could get a relay of the imaging screen. The bots would circle and press in on the culprits, linking to entrap them. Gardiner could be identified and separated from the other two in the confusion.

Strategy three was get the best people available. Sometimes that was Cal himself due to the fact that he was the only one available. This time, however, there were experts.

"Okay!" declared Cal. We need to use slick timing. We'll shut off all the lights in the suite, rush in six bots manually controlled to bypass complex ethics processing by QARC. They'll use IR imaging on the bots; five to corral Bailey and his off-sider while one escorts your dad out of the room. Can you get the best robot operators?"

"QARC will do that easily." In reality it was the data base of the super computer that performed the task. Chloe had the computer summon those selected with robotic expertise by sending an urgent message via their personal communicators.

Ten minutes later, with a computer room filled with selected individuals comprising the manual robot operators, several members of the security squad, Melanie—the essential medical component of the team, and Cal and Chloe; Cal reviewed the plan. Their success hinged on surprise, split second timing and a coordinated advance by the robot operators.

Norris, one of the specialists in charge of the robotic team voiced a concern. "I don't think the IR image is clear enough to distinguish between Mr Talbot and the other two. It wouldn't take much for them to realise we're using IR and confuse the issue."

"He's got a tag," answered Cal.

"With all those bots and Wi-Fi, there's no guarantee we'll get any signal from his tag. And if we do it will be delayed...not real time."

"What do you recommend?" The question hovered but already Cal knew the only course that made sense.

"We need someone in there to grab Mr Talbot when the lights go out."

Cal bit his lip. "Right...I'll walk in and try and get close to him. If I stop before I get close you know they are threatening me. You might even hear it over the communicator. Turn off the lights and I'll make a dive for Talbot. I'll leave the door open so the bots can swarm in."

"You need a heat signal," interjected Chloe. "Something to identify you."

"I have a heat pack. We'll stick it to your back," announced Melanie. She took one from a medical kit and heated it in the microwave in the lunch room. Taping it to his back inside his shirt made him flinch from the heat.

"You okay?" Melanie asked. He gestured a thumbs up as his skin got accustomed to the temperature.

Cal walked to the entry point of the executive suite in residential A. A troop of robots trailed behind and were positioned alongside the corridor wall, out of sight ready to enter through the open door. Melanie and several security team members queued behind the human form machines.

"I'm about to go in," whispered Cal.

"We think the two targets are on the left of the doorway and Dad is on the settee," said Chloe. Her voice had a nervous tremolo.

He took a quick breath and then turned the handle and barged in, looking straight ahead as if unaware of Bailey and his confederate. "Gardiner, I'm tired of all the blame I'm getting for what's happened. You..."

"Stop there," shouted Bailey, drowning out his inconsequential patter. Cal took another two paces as he slowly turned to face his adversary. "I said stop! ...or...I'll shoot!" he bellowed. Cunningly, Cal raised his hands and staggered backwards toward Talbot.

"Bailey...what are you doing?" cried Cal uncertainly. He took another step back and felt the settee with the backs of his legs.

"I'm just explaining to our friend Gardiner here that if he cooperates he'll get out of this with his life...maybe you..."

Everything went black. Cal pirouetted, bent over, hugged Talbot and hissed, "On to the floor." They rolled onto the carpet, a grunting exhalation from Talbot was caused by Cal's body thudding on top of his.

A flaring flash and crashing explosion was followed by two more in rapid succession. The whine of electric motors then surged into the room. A fourth shot was followed by a ricochet and a scream. "Aghh...stop shooting you fool, Bailey," ranted the voice. "I'm hit." Then protesting voices rose above the sounds of clunking metal and humming machines. "Stop...we're being crushed...stop them."

A momentary silence preceded the lights glaring on and the rush of charging security men swamping the encircled miscreants. "Get his gun," ordered one.

"This one's been shot," chimed another.

"Call Doc Rose," directed the first.

Melanie was coming in and rushing toward Cal and Talbot, who were struggling to their feet. Another of the rescuing party diverted her. "Over here Doc."

Norris was instructing the robot crew, "Withdraw the bots. The situation is in hand...repeat, withdraw the bots."

Cal looked at the rumpled, disoriented owner of Interspace. He was attempting to fill his lungs. "Sorry about the rough treatment." The words were expressed with associated facial contrition.

"You winded me," complained Talbot.

Chloe ran in at that moment and virtually lunged into her father's arms. "Dad, are you all right?"

"I think I'm suffering from an overdose of protecting," he groaned as he peeled her off him.

When Cal looked back at the melee that had been a tight circular brace of metallic humanoids, he saw the last of the machines walking out in the strange rhythmic lurch the robotic kineticists had deemed most efficiently emulating human gait. Four robust security members were trussing up Bailey and his crony in crime.

"Ralph Barnet," grated Chloe as she glowered at the programmer, his lower thigh colouring from a flesh wound. "How could you sell out on us? What have we done to deserve your disloyalty?"

He shrugged. A thin malevolent smile preceded his answer. "Let's say...I was never going to get rich working for your father."

"You were well looked after," growled Gardiner.

"I said rich!" he sneered.

"Well, look where it's got you. You'll probably be imprisoned for this," lectured Chloe.

A grunt emanated from Bailey. His head had been bowed as he contemplated his situation.

"You don't know what you're up against. I warned you that you could get out of this alive...now I'm not so sure."

"What are you talking about?" snapped the older Talbot.

"Two space craft are approaching to take over the station. If you don't let them in...they have explosives and they're going to blow the place up."

Cal looked at father and daughter. "I can get radar confirmation if you like?" Gardiner nodded curtly and Cal stepped aside and quietly spoke into his communicator.

Gardiner was riled, "Who's behind all this? What do you hope to gain?"

"Let's just say that Haslet Burnell wasn't too thrilled to learn of your very big space station." From what they said; Burnell's complaint was that the new megalithic torus would make his construction obsolete. His celebrations, after he had completed constructing, what was then, a revolutionary, large space platform, were short-lived. There would be no huge profits in housing space scientists and travellers now that Interspace had trumped him.

"Haslet? ... But there'll be plenty of business for several operators when Mars traffic becomes regular," Talbot asserted.

Bailey sneered, "You don't get it. He thought he'd have a monopoly...With this around, all the larger freighters will come here. He'll lose a fortune. That's why he's sending a crew to take it over."

"How can he think he'll get away with it?" joined in Chloe. "It's piracy! The international community won't stand for it."

Talbot ended the interchange by having the two men removed and put under guard in an 'A residence'. "Who would have thought we'd need a cell to imprison wrongdoers in? I thought we had covered everything in this design," he grumbled.

"Radar says two craft are about two hours away...Bailey was right," declared Cal. "What do you want us to do?"

"Well, we don't have any weapons. There's not a lot we can do. I mean they're threatening to blow us up!"

Cal spoke slowly. "I can think of one or two things that would definitely put an end to their threat."

"Like what?"

The young IT specialist looked around and drew nearer. Like a choreographed partner, Chloe came closer as well. "A couple of well-aimed space capsules would end their attack...I've no doubt."

"They could be killed!" protested the senior man.

Cal was slightly bewildered. "It's them or us...surely we're justified."

"Taking someone else's life...I don't think so." He looked at his daughter and then back at Cal. "We're evacuating now...they can have it. It's not worth fighting over and people getting killed."

"You'll lose billions..."

"I know, I know...money. That's what's caused this calamity in the first place...So, I'll be ruined financially...It's not the worst thing that can happen to me." He spoke into his communicator. "Grant, announce to everyone that we'll be departing in thirty minutes at the latest. We'll head to the UN Moon base."

"Yes sir," was the speaker tainted reply.

Cal's head was spinning. The injustice of it all...the crude boldness of the takeover outraged him. That this magnificent technological wonder should be seized by some tyrant for his own greedy gain was unpalatable to him. Already unapproved alternatives were coalescing in his mind. The defiant adage, 'what they didn't know won't hurt them', buttressed his scheming.

Chapter 7

Everyone had been ordered up to the hub and were boarding the shuttle. Bailey and

Barnet—who had received a cursory dressing on his wound—were hustled through the aperture by a burly guard. Cal spoke privately with Gardiner.

"Mr Talbot, I'll take my craft attached to the C2 gantry...It's how I came on board undetected," he clarified when he detected the other's querying look.

"What sort is it?" The space entrepreneur was always cued in on space vehicle logistics and specifications.

"A personal shuttle...a bit different to yours and built by Dargo Space—the people who built the moon transporters and earth landers."

"Yes, I know them. Why didn't you use one of ours?"

"This one has a series of rigid docking clamps, which means I can attach almost anywhere and...it has some other useful features for my job."

"Such as..." Talbot raised his eyebrows.

"Greater fuel storage, soft Earth landing capability and more potent propulsion."

"I must have a look at it someday. Will you follow us there?"

He pulled a face, hinting that it sounded a bit pedestrian. "I'll meet you there."

The reply didn't fool Talbot. "Don't do anything stupid Dorner. No one is to be hurt."

"I know," he returned. Chloe floated up bumping into him to retard her motion.

"Sorry...not used to weightless," she grinned, clasping onto his arm to avoid rebounding. "You getting on board?"

He returned her smile. "No...I have my own transport...but I'll see you on Moon base."

"Oh...okay." She squeezed his arm. "Look after yourself...then." There was something unsaid that was tangible between them.

Talbot's eye's swivelled between the two of them. "Right. We have to go Chloe...Take care Dorner." His gruff response was associated with a gentle shove of his daughter to the airlock and then his own push off the wall.

Cal held a hand up as a parting gesture and then flew back to the computer centre. The moment the shuttle undocked, he ran some commands into the controlling computer. Several scripts were inserted using his access key. After each short interval he checked his watch. It made his fingers race more determinedly over the keyboard.

From there he rushed to the storage areas and retrieved numerous lengths of tether before scrambling with his unwieldy load down to the C 2 airlock. He donned his personal space suit—more versatile and convenient for getting into and working in a vacuum than the multi segmented bulky suits found on the space station. Rapidly depressurising the airlock, Cal rechecked his gauges, gathered his gear and watched for the indicator light. His transfer to his personal shuttle—The Dart—went smoothly, and his flight check routine was fleeting but precise.

Cal released the docking clamp. He nudged the craft away from the station, initially negating the centripetal acceleration. The main shuttle engines remained off. Instead there was a small rocket flute next to the central steering rocket engine, mounted on a gimbal pushing the Dart to a position out of sight from the approaching craft. He crossed the sea of solar panels heading for the hub. Cal used the forward clamp to attach to a dish strut where the Dart's profile merged with the side of the station's giant axle. From there his instruments could still detect the raiders. And his view through Dart's thick observation screen would show him their arrival.

Cal waited. He prepared himself for a crazy stunt that would have severe ramifications if it backfired. Mentally he ticked off the steps. The first requirement for his proposed action was already in place. The computer had been instructed to refuse entry apart from an assigned code. That meant the docking catches wouldn't engage and the hatches were secured. The two ships would be frustrated, attempting to use instructions provided by Bailey. Cal imagined that their second option was to destroy the structure. The notion was that if they couldn't hijack the station then no one could have it. Either way Burnell would benefit. He would have to act quickly when that stage was reached.

His radar informed him that he still had a few minutes. The problem at hand faded briefly as his thoughts went to Chloe. The natural connection between them and the warmth he felt in her presence put a hesitant smile on his face. Was she the girl for him? From what she said she had a Christian faith. That had always been an important criterion. He gave an airy snort. "You like her enough to not care whether she is a Christian." The softly spoken confession said more about himself than he wanted to dwell on. It wasn't an issue, merely hypothetical, so he didn't have to perform ethical gymnastics to confront his conscience.

Two blips on his radar screen told of the unwelcome ships arriving in the vicinity of the space station. He still had a bit of time while they decelerated to match the station's velocity. Day dreams were set aside. He would secure his suit soon so that he would be ready to carry out his audacious extra vehicular foray. Through the heavy pane of multi laminated glass he could see two tiny pinpoints of light as the sun reflected off the advancing craft.

He tried to cover the possible events of the encounter. They would not know that their infiltrators had been caught, though a lack of communications might make them wary. They would use time trying to unravel their inability to dock or open the air locks. The level of their perseverance would determine how much time he would have, but it wouldn't be much.

A message came on his screen. Carson Temple had heard from Talbot. He wanted to know where he was. There was no sign of him on their detection equipment.

Cal typed. 'Was held up for a bit...but I'm in the Dart already.'

'I recommend you get as far away as you can quickly. Haslet Burnell is not someone to meddle with.'

'No problems."

"At least they'll know I'm all right," he muttered. "Can't have them worrying." Contiguous with his tongue-in-cheek rambling was the concept that having two captains of industry being concerned for his welfare was not only unprecedented, there was something peculiar about it.

***

Time had passed. The docking procedure had been excruciatingly slow. Cal assumed the pilots were being watchful, fearful that there would be active opposition. Cal ignited the narrow stream manoeuvring rocket and moved closer to their position using the hub to shield him from view. He did this by swinging Dart, using side thrusters, to trace the course of the hub travelling on the far side relative to the docking ships. Easing to a standstill within a metre of a hub work platform, Cal had Dart connect to the spar with a clamp extending from the underside of his ship.

Aware now that speed was essential, he gathered the, now weightless tethers, a large tether ring and his helmet and ran the exit procedure barely within safety margins. Exiting the airlock, he almost forgot to link his ratchetted tether to an outside D ring. In a flurry of hand over hand clambering he reached a shorter docking clamp at the stern of his ship. Slipping the tether ring into the clamp jaws and attaching a tether link to the ring he then fumbled in a leg pocket for a controller. Using a wireless touch pad, he closed the clamp on the ring.

From there Cal hastily scaled the hub toward the docking area, the towline he was fabricating required two more tether lengths linked together to reach the docking ships. Having reached the end of the ratchetted safety line, he undid the belt, cautiously re-strapped it together in a loop and then attached a carabiner from a tether onto the belt and the other end onto a carabiner on his spacesuit. To his surprise, he found that he had been holding his breath while unattached. Now safely secured he could continue. He sought to carry out the really quirky part of his plan.

The coils of tethers weren't as cumbersome in the weightless conditions, and clipping them together had proven a clever tactic as they remained close. He tugged lightly and the implements of his plan went with him toward the two ships. When he reached the end of his designated towline, he connected four tethers. Then he pushed off to attach a line to the front of the first ship. He did the same with the second. After two lines of the remaining four were attached to the rear of each vessel he grasped the last two free tethers for the coup de grace of his somewhat foolhardy exploit.

He strung them between the two craft linking them, rear to rear, in a crafty, convoluted plot to hamstring the raiders. A glimpse at the side port of the second ship had him frantically pulling on his line. They had seen him. Arms were waving and fingers pointing. His actions would have to be swift. The Dart had to be moving before they had time to get someone outside to undo his web. At the connection between the line and his ratchet tether, he was careful to reattach the carabiner to the tether line so that, in his haste, mishandling the belt didn't mean separation from the safety line. Securing the belt around himself was still more difficult than releasing it, with the thick gloves. Having put the hijackers out of sight, Cal was highly apprehensive about what was happening. He assured himself that the belt was in place and started furiously rewinding the ratchet on his tether. Then bracing himself for the impact with his ship, he swung his feet forward. The crunching collision vibrated through him but there was little rebound because of the ratchet engaging. Linking his second line inside the airlock before disconnecting from the D link, Cal yanked himself inside.

Everything seemed to take an age. He began to fret as he waited for the light to indicate full pressure. The gauge neared the mark when he released his helmet and felt his ears pop. He berated himself for his impatience. Rash decisions killed people in space. When equilibrium was attained, he glided into the pilot's seat through the hatchway. 'Caution must be observed', he recited to himself. He was now tied to two other craft who, given enough time, might coordinate their actions to oppose his momentum. Dart had strong propulsion but would still be jostled around by contra-forces. If the tug of war ensued, he would disconnect the ring from the clamp. That would separate him and then the other two ships would battle with the matter of being bound to each other.

The lower docking clamp opened freeing him from the hub. The steering rocket, swivelling on its gimbal, impelled Dart away from the hub and toward the docking plane at the end of the huge cylinder. It was apparent that no one had managed to exit from the two ships. The slack was taken out of what was now a space version of a long towrope. Careful not to exceed the breaking strain of the strong carbon fibre and polymer tethers, Cal used a minute thrust on the small directional rocket engine to inch the two craft away from the space station. Because of the front and rear ties, he was dragging them sideways behind him.

It took little time for both opposing pilots to realise that if they didn't use gas thrusters the two trailing ships would come together end to end resulting in considerable damage. Even though they prevented a dangerous impact the rear rockets of both craft came together with several frightening bumps. Their tail to tail orientation prohibited either ship from firing their main engines. They were captive to the Dart.

Cal called Carson to relay to the orbiting docking platform that he was bringing two ships caught in the act of piracy. He filled his boss in on the whole episode. They would have to be rescued from their trajectory after he had sent them on their way. The journey would take much longer than normal because of his gentle acceleration. He told Carson that while the risk of them firing any of their main engines existed, he doubted that any attempt would be made to spacewalk and untangle the craft. His boss admonished him for endangering himself and others, suggesting his actions were undisciplined. It was clear Carson didn't approve of him accepting contracts under his own mandate, but he knew he was operating within the bounds of his contractual agreement with CTSS. At the time Carson had signed he had been pleased because he would be getting a percentage of Cal's private contracts. It only dawned on the CEO that he had relinquished executive control over a contractor.

Things went well to begin with, then, much to Cal's alarm, the trailing craft began trying to align themselves, using gas jets, to face the opposite direction to which he was heading. Each time the impulse of their jets rotated them away from the perpendicular to the Dart, he gave a short burst from the rocket central in his cluster of main drive engines and the added impetus dragged the two ships back into their opposite orientation. The silent collisions were more likely to create a terrifying racket inside the ships. This occurred twice and then there was a lull. Cal decided that they had surrendered to the idea that it was too dangerous to attempt any manoeuvres. Maybe they had already suffered significant damage.

Without any warning the two craft fired their main rockets simultaneously in a reckless endeavour to tear away from his hold on them. The cables linking them snapped first and because the force of the rockets was at right angles to the Dart's grasp on them, they began a rapid circular motion. Instantly, Cal leapt to the clamp control and released the tether ring, fearful of them smashing together again. He quickly toggled the guidance rocket to take the Dart out of the plane of their circular courses. Their combined angular momentum sent them toward a deadly convergence which suddenly began to diverge with continued thrust and the slackening of the lines. As he got more distant, he could see both pilots furiously attempting to alter their trajectory. By dent of good fortune more than good piloting they managed to select different directions and broke the lines between them, sending each of them hurtling away from each other.

Now he was in a bind. Should he go back to the station and patrol it in case of a repeat attack or head to the Moon base? A bizarre idea occurred to him. It was outrageous, and displayed a hint of the unconventional that resided in him. A silly smirk spread across his face. "Worth a try old boy...worth a try."

Cal entered the course details into his computer and raced the Dart back to the station, allowing the processor to calculate the most effective burn to accelerate and decelerate in the shortest time. He was relieved to see no sign of hostile visitors. It would enable him to work undistracted. He was occupied for more than an hour accumulating materials and sorting through available fuelled vehicles. It took many hours to rig his novel sentinel. Repeatedly, he transferred in and out of airlocks. He made frequent visits to the maintenance hangar under arm A. His final slow departure from the huge space station was on account of a circular survey of his handiwork. It looked convincing. He was delighted by his ruse. Ten frenetic hours had been consumed to concoct this bizarre deception.

***

The journey to Moon Base was a strain. Housekeeping duties on Dart kept him busy for a couple of hours. His EVA suits had to be charged, re-gassed and refreshed. He was exhausted. Cal tried to recall when he last slept. Though accustomed with variations to his circadian rhythm, he still needed sleep. There was an anesthetising absence of any sound when the rocket engines shut down. In his drowsy condition he contemplated seeing Chloe again. It disturbed him that she dominated his thoughts. The prospect of a deeper relationship was daunting. Her father was imposing and the two of them purported to have strong beliefs. Self-doubts about his personal values started creeping in. What did she say? 'The most important thing in their lives is their faith.' He couldn't say that.

***

Moon Base was becoming an extensive series of installations. He vaguely recalled that the first established, self-sustaining centre had been an ambitious, classified U.S. base that eventually, after considerable international pressure, was transferred to UN control. Since then it had expanded and had supported mining and private industry as well as a tourist centre. Interspace had a large facility to cater for its varied transport sector and its space station construction and manufacturing works. In the last five years they had also prefabricated living domes for Mars and a fleet of Mars landers.

Carson Temple's Communication & Transport Space Solutions also had a complex with an office in the business sector. His buildings had facilities to house several craft used for retrieving and repairing satellites and space vehicles. It also had equipment stores and workshops. It was small compared to the Interspace infrastructure, but then all other facilities paled into insignificance compared with the giant space conglomerate.

As Cal drew near in the Dart he wondered if Carson's brother, Farley and his alternate Klaus, would be managing the office or whether Molly and her alternate Peta, would be there. They usually took it in turns of three-month stints but since he'd returned directly to work from an abbreviated vacation, he had no idea whose turn it was. The computer recommended Interspace permission to land on their pad so he wouldn't have to travel the tubes and he would be where he was required. But it was easier, having already registered his arrival with his company, to land on his usual spot. That way he could get one of the technicians to refuel the Dart and run system diagnostics while he was reporting to Gardiner Talbot.

He never tired of seeing the assortment of domes, dishes, square kilometres of solar panels, rows of agricultural half cylinders and the residential and tourist centre. In the dark, as it was now, lights shone with glittering brilliance in all the buildings from the small domes and the greenhouses to the impressive central dome that encapsulated parks, trees and a shopping centre in addition to tourist and recreational facilities. Everything was interconnected with tubes that small, golf cart size, electric cars could travel along.

Descending to the recognisable blue and green triangles of CTSS's landing pads, he allowed the computers to do what they did best. The electronic logic algorithms' accurate timing and perfect sequence of short rocket bursts provided a much smoother landing than he could perform, and with far less stress on him. The stark silhouette of the moon's night against the almost white horizon line of the coming dawn accentuated the savage desolation outside the manufactured liveable zones. A gradual backward facing re-entry curve allowed him to crane his neck sideways and view the proliferation of LED lighting. Purple rimmed zones were no-go solar fields, Bright flashing red were hydrogen storage and bright flashing orange indicated oxygen storage tanks. Both these zones were also to be avoided by landing craft at all costs.

He saw the blue triangle slowly drawing nearer and watched the reflected glow of the Dart's final landing burn. A slight shudder as the craft grounded on the mobile pad sitting on the lunar surface. He waited as the Dart was retracted into the receiving pressure hangar. The system was so much more convenient than docking to a pressure sealed exit tube and required minimal human intervention.

When the air tight shutters closed behind the enveloped spaceship, Cal watched the pressure gauges. This time he waited until the green light flashed. He exited the craft and was greeted by Molly. She was a tomboyish redhead who always liked to provoke him with light hearted mockery. This time was no exception.

"Couldn't trust your piloting skills to a manual landing?"

"Hi Molly...Good to see you too," he initiated dryly. "Much been happening?"

She walked over and gave him a hug. He figured she was naturally affectionate or that she hadn't seen anyone in a while. He responded by giving her a cursory hug.

"Nothing here. As boring as watching paint dry. But, from what I hear, you've been busy...Space pirates! What next?" She released him and looked up into his face.

"Good question. It's hard to understand what Haslet Burnell hopes to achieve by trying to take over the space station."

Molly turned her attention to Dart. "Do you want the boys to put her through the full treatment?"

"No...just do the diagnostics...but let me know if they plan on doing any refits...I might need her at short notice."

"Are you going over there now?"

"Where?"

"Interspace."

"Yes...I have to report...Talbot expects me to...I mean they're the customer." He couldn't understand why his justification was becoming flustered.

Molly stuck her tongue between her teeth and smiled knowingly, her head acceding to the deduction. "What's she like?"

The question caught him on the hop as his thoughts had again turned to Chloe. "Who?"

"Chloe Talbot, that's who...just about the most sought-after heiress there is."

"Ah...she's okay, I guess...seems to know her programming."

"That's not what I meant...You're going over there to see her." Molly's scrunched grin revealed the delight she experienced at teasing Cal.

"No...no...I said I had to give a report."

"Nonsense...you usually send a digital file. You know how you usually avoid those stuffy meetings. Carson said you had been working closely with Chloe Talbot." The raised pitch of her voice as she said the name showed her heightened excitement. She was already assuming romantic connotations because of his awkwardness.

He dropped his head. He wasn't going to win this one. "Think what you want. I need to give them a call and let them know I'm coming."

"You look me in the eye and tell me you don't find her attractive."

"That's not the same thing," he objected. "There are lots of attractive women...in different ways...I mean...I think you're attractive. It doesn't mean I have a thing for you."

"Wow...You know how to boost a girl and then drop her flat, don't you?" There was a tinge of melancholy in the way she said it. Cal suddenly felt himself teetering on the precipice of an inept apology. She saw his perplexed expression and pulled a big smile, punching him on the shoulder. "Just kidding," she sniggered.

Regardless of what she said, Cal felt like their off-hand sniping at each other would never be the same again.

They made their way to the office as the aerospace engineers started to ferry the Dart into the workshops through another vacuum rated door. "You want some advice?" Molly submitted.

Cal dreaded what she was about to say. "Go on then..."

"Have a shower before you meet up with the Talbots. You're a bit offensive at the moment." She went to her desk and peered at her computer screen, evading his scowl.

"Yeah...well...you're probably right. I've been sort of busy. The niceties of personal hygiene have slipped off my priority list."

He checked his time zones and confirmed that, despite the dark, it was allocated day period on the moon. It meant, communications and meetings were acceptable. Some residents would be very annoyed if you abused their designated night time. He placed an audio call and made an appointment through a secretary.

***

Having made the appointment, he luxuriated in a lengthy shower. The extravagant water usage left him feeling no guilt at all. The incongruity of being in this realm of very limited water supply was that every drop was recycled. An added bonus was that in recent years substantial volumes of water had been mined from polar region craters. It was good to feel clean and refreshed.

Wearing one of his clean CTSS uniforms stored at the depot, Cal emerged to let Molly know he was on his way.

"Mm...you smell nice," she teased. "I'm sure Chloe will appreciate it."

He rolled his eyes but said nothing. Molly continued more seriously, "The guys have refuelled the Dart, re-gassed the attitude control thrusters and swapped over your batteries." She checked her screen. "Darren says you're due for an engine refit soon, but all engines still look good and maintaining pressure."

"That's good news. Thanks for that...and...thank Daz for the work he and the boys are doing."

He chose to walk. Cal preferred to stretch his legs and enjoy the exercise the reasonable length of transparent tube offered. This main one connected the industrial precinct to the central business and residential districts under the huge main dome. Seeing the barren, dusty lunar surface reflecting the glow from the tube, he again marvelled at the transformation inside the artificial pressurised world. The sixth gravity was a strange sensation after the one g centripetal acceleration of the spinning space station. Entering the huge vault of the base's epicentre, he took in the landscaped lake and lawns of the park area—a feature that had existed right from the early history of the burgeoning lunar community. Cal couldn't help lingering on the lawns and admiring the trees. It was an environment that alleviated some of the pain of being away from Earth, from loved ones and the palliative effects of nature. The proliferation of lights shining across the dome demonstrated that it was still the stipulated day time.

A few people were wandering around making use of the park. He imagined enjoying Chloe's companionship in the quiet microcosm of nature in this otherwise inhospitable, synthesised atmosphere and fabricated cocoon. He shook his head at the thought. It was a mystery to him. Technological, extreme surroundings had been his life; when had he started yearning for the natural world? He must be overtired. Cal resolved to go to his meeting before he began composing sonnets about unfulfilled longings.

The young engineer analyst could have gone a more circuitous route to the Interspace industrial complex and then used a dedicated company tunnel to go to the office in the main dome. If it hadn't been for Chloe, he was sure he would have gone to the lunar home of Interspace aerospace wizardry. Their fleet of multi-purpose rocketry were cutting edge machines. But there was an impatient enthusiasm to see this girl again. His slow-motion bouncing steps, a product of the fractional gravity, made rushing almost impossible.

Announcing his name at reception had him hustled up to the fourth floor. Four people were waiting in an office, Gardiner and Chloe and two men who were strangers to him.

"Ah, Dorner...good to see you made it. For a while there I thought you'd try some foolish attempt to thwart Burnell's takeover." He looked at him like a schoolmaster overviewing reading glasses as if he disapproved of the young contractor. Cal tried to gain Chloe's acknowledgement but she appeared to reckon official business called for a serious demeanour, and she was attending to her computer screen. "Maybe you're not as silly as I first thought. Then again, I don't know what has kept you all these hours." A hint of a suppressed smile visited her lips in the company of a small dimple. He missed Talbot's next comment.

"Sorry?"

"You seem a bit distracted." He looked across at his daughter as he said it. "I said that this is Michael Riordan, the other programmer who has worked on QARC." A young man, not much older than he, fluttered his hand in response. "And this is Milton Hibbs, one of our chief designers." An older man rose to his feet and stretched out his hand. Cal shook it, amused that the quaint ritual still existed amongst some of the senior brigade. "Anyway, take a seat. We're monitoring the situation and trying to get a UN force to evict Burnell from our station."

Cal gave a surprised look. "He's on board? How do you know?"

"Well, Bailey said they'd board or they'd blow it up. We're still receiving telemetry so we can only conclude they're now in control."

"What if I said that that's highly unlikely?" The words were delivered slowly, as if he didn't know how to broach the subject. Talbot was taken aback by the notion.

"What do you mean? What could stop them? Bailey, himself, said that he gave them the access procedure."

Cal's face distorted to one side, prefacing his revelation. "I may have instructed QARC to secure all hatches to a new password."

"You what!" ejaculated Talbot. "He'll destroy the station if he can't get in. I'd rather he had it than all that research, that work, is lost." He eyeballed Hibbs. "It's still online isn't it?"

"Yes sir...everything seems to be operating normally. A small head judder and grin towards Cal was thinly disguised admiration for placing an obstacle in the way of a would-be usurper.

Talbot's hand plied his neck muscles as if to relieve the stress of his added misfortune. "Well, if it's still intact, we need to undo that programming and negotiate with Burnell before he carries out his threat. The only people who know are the UN security representatives I contacted. If we don't spread his name, Burnell may still be able to back out of this mess." Cal said nothing about the people he had informed.

"Dad, I have a feeling Cal has made some provision for protecting the station." Chloe's quiet words brought the young contractor under unanimous scrutiny. Talbot looked from Cal to his daughter, who tried to conceal a smirk, and then back to the young man.

"So...what have you done? I hope nothing violent."

For a moment Cal resented the ingratitude, then he recalled the values this man espoused. Losing everything meant little compared to faith and family. He speculated on a family motto: 'Lives not Loot'.

"Well?" The insistent question brought him back from his meandering thoughts.

"Well...in addition to the lockout we have guards patrolling the spaceship and the docking bays."

"Who? Where did you get them so quickly?"

"It's amazing what a few robots and maintenance pods can appear like to people wishing to crush a defenceless community."

There were some lengthy stares as they attempted to assimilate the scene. Riordan was the first to speak. He began with a chuckle. "I suppose bots inside pods could look like a security cordon."

"I don't understand how you had time to do all that before Burnell's men turned up. They were on our screens when we left." It was clear Talbot wasn't easily enamoured by the inventive trouble shooter.

"Yes...well...I found it necessary to tow those vehicles away from the space station before I could set up the guard."

The reactions varied. Talbot looked in disbelief. Riordan and Hibbs showed growing respect to his actions and resourcefulness and Chloe had placed a hand over her mouth to stifle her giggling.

"They let you tow them away?" Talbot was struggling to envisage the scenario.

"They didn't really have a choice...I won't go into detail but, apart from a few bruises, I don't think anyone would have been hurt. The ships suffered some damage due, largely, to careless reactive piloting." He summed up by saying. "I guess they wanted to get away since I was taking them to the UN platform on the orbiting communications station."

It took a few moments to adjust to the new set of circumstances. Cal had to explain, for the benefit of Riordan and Hibbs that the Dart was a state-of-the-art craft purpose built for him by Dargo Space at the behest of Carson Temple. He omitted mentioning any more details of his spacewalk and somewhat injudicious towing exercise and concentrated on the need to move back into the space station while they had the advantage. He suggested that with Bailey and Barnet being detained it shouldn't be difficult to get a detail of UN space patrol to take up residence in the space station to guarantee its protection.

Talbot seemed to gather himself to resume his more usual decisive manner. He called in several delegates from other arms of his business. After briefing them on the current state of affairs he announced; "Right, I'll chat with Harrow about the UN security presence...I don't think that should be a problem. We've already discussed them having allocated space to rotate squads. We head back as soon as that is done. And from there we'll go on to Interspace Mars Base to begin planning an expansion of greenhouses and dwellings. Everyone happy with that." He looked around. Heads were nodding, smiling, content; things were getting back to the way they were meant to be. Cal had more of a blank expression.

"Yes...Dorner...Of course you need to complete your audit. If I can have that report when you've finished, and make sure you invoice the company. He surveyed his team. "I daresay there will be a significant bonus in it for you and CTSS,"

For the first time in his experience the promise of monetary reward left a sour taste in his mouth. He was being dismissed. It was like all his sacrificial effort, all his emotional investment, was for naught. The job was almost done and it left him empty. Talbot sent them all for a break while he organised a UN escort and the provision of an official security detail. Cal had hoped that Chloe would join them for a coffee but she remained with her father.

Riordan sat down next to him and cleared his throat. "You know she likes you, don't you?"

"Who?"

"Chloe Talbot...She and her father were arguing about you...I don't think he approves." The statement came as a punch in the stomach. Cal rested his mug on the table. "What...what did he say?"

The programmer hesitated. "Er...it's not really my place to say...I mean, I shouldn't have said anything. Like I said, she likes you...it's just her dad."

Cal felt like reciting his list of credits that Talbot had benefitted from. Instead he probed regarding what he knew of Chloe. "So, you think she likes me?"

"Uh huh, and she's a smart cookie too. I mean, we worked together on the quantum computer system and paired software...but she's also studying astrophysics."

Cal responded with a wry nasal snuffle as he mused meditatively about the girl at the forefront of his thoughts.

"What's wrong with that?" queried Riordan misinterpreting his response.

"Nothing...no, nothing's wrong. I just remember when I first saw her, I thought she was Talbot's secretary...I guess I prejudged her."

"Ha...She wouldn't appreciate that."

Cal thought further. "So...if she likes me...what does it matter if her father doesn't like me?"

"It matters to her. She respects old Gardiner...and...I didn't say he didn't like you. I said he didn't approve of you...something about values."

"What does he know about my values?" Cal was getting annoyed. "Did he say anything specific?"

Riordan looked uncomfortable talking about it. "Look...they were arguing...probably saying things in the heat of the moment. I was working in the next office so...really...it's none of my business."

Cal was getting exasperated. "At least give me a hint. Maybe I can show him I'm not like he thinks."

"I doubt it."

"Why?" Cal was demanding now.

"Okay...he said you are a reckless adventurer. That you are superficial, a people pleaser, and people like Doc Rose become infatuated with you because of your cavalier life style."

"Oh." Cal couldn't think of what else to say. The words somehow seeped into him and whispered, 'he knows you better than you think'.

Riordan patted him on the shoulder as he stood to put his mug in the dishwasher. "That's what I meant. Your daring actions have endeared you to Chloe...and Doc Rose, I suppose, and...I suppose, Talbot thinks there are more substantial character traits to admire in a person." He chuckled to himself. "I don't suppose it hurts to have your jaunty good looks either."

Now Cal was identifying something of Talbot's perspective. He arrives at his great project and hears stories of hazardous exploits by the young IT specialist, then later witnesses Melanie's overly eager embrace. Maybe he did come across as an irresponsible adventurer.

***

When the meeting continued, Talbot filled them in on the arrangements for the return journey. After communicating the new entry codes, Cal became consumed with the criticisms made of him. The man's negative opinion of him was aimed at dissuading his daughter from making a poor choice. But, for him, disapproval was like a challenge that made him want be accepted even more. He studied her as she made notes on her computer. Dark hair framed her oval face. There was a trace of the mischievous country girl in her. Chloe glanced up at him and smiled coyly. Her officious attitude, at first, had fooled him into thinking that she was a secretary at Interspace. He had missed the mark by a long way. He recalled what Riordon had told him; she was a programmer and studying astrophysics, and the daughter of the CEO and founder. Examining her smiling, beautiful face, he wondered whether the threat of rejection had made him stubbornly resist Talbot's estimation of him.

Everyone was gearing for a return to the space station. The complement of crew was to be doubled and sector B was to be opened up. Cal approached Chloe about her accompanying him on the journey to the station. For a brief moment her eyes lit and she contemplated the journey in his craft. Reconsideration clouded her expression. "You know...Dad expects me to travel with him...It's probably best to stick to the plan." The smile was strained. "We can get together at the station...anyway." The words were spoken as if something had to be said. He could almost predict the 'I'm sorry but...' speech.

"Yeah..." he tailed off. With a brusque "I'll see you there," he raised his hand in a desultory wave and left.

Chapter 8

At a café, he gave a call to Docking Platform saying that he intended to come through after handing Interspace his report. Letting them know that he would be resuming his vacation was an organisational favour. Minutes later, he received another call. This time it was from Baz an aerospace engineering colleague who worked for ASA, Amalgamated Space Agency—an offspring of NASA, when NASA was privatised and required to make a profit. Baz told him one of their communications' portfolios was experiencing massive failure. He pled with Cal for aid because it was his job on the line. The compensation would be generous. The critical piece of information that made him shudder with trepidation was that the faulty satellites were orbiting Mars. His special level of autonomy meant he could defer any CTSS job and pursue other contracts as long as assigned tasks were done. Ostensibly, he was on vacation, so it wasn't an issue anyway.

The problem was, accepting Baz's plea for help would result in him going to Mars. He knew the Talbots had scheduled to go there. Would he let that influence his decision? Was his future life to be dogged by impending awkward encounters with Chloe or her father? He resolved that he wasn't going to let a love-hate relationship with the first family of space interfere with his loyalty to a friend desperate for his assistance.

After returning, he moped about the CTSS offices for a while chatting with some of the engineers and quizzing them on what they knew about the Mars settlements. It had been some time since his one and only visit and he wanted to be updated. Cal finally yielded to the demands of sleep and went to his regular quarters in the company residential section connected by a short tunnel with power sealed doors at each end. They were one of the few establishments who didn't always house their employees in the main living area of the base. As a concession, they had to protect their workers from the dangers of industrial accidents such as fuel fires or explosions. That's why the sleeping quarters were separated by the tunnel. The setting wasn't quite as pleasant or convenient for entertainment and socialising but Cal appreciated the privacy.

He slept long and soundly for the most part but the sixth gravity induced dreams of floating and flying, as wakefulness drew, near were unsettling. Cal sent several electronic missives to family and wrote a brief report for Carson before leaving for the main dome. A quaint eatery which mimicked a French restaurant with faux alfresco dining provided satisfying croissants and coffee. News from Interspace offices told of the first returnees already launched. A second pair of shuttles left as he enjoyed another coffee. The idea of not even returning to the space station occurred to him but PR was part of his job and Carson always said it was best to hand over his report personally. It would ensure the contract was completed to Talbot's satisfaction. He was considering whether to iterate CTSS policy, that they would adhere to quotes for contracts and therefore he could not accept any bonus payment, knowing that Carson himself flagrantly ignored the rule and, also, that it was his private arrangement, not a company contract so those strictures weren't binding on him anyway. Nevertheless, he wanted to make a statement—show he was principled. It was like he hated the thought of being beholden to Talbot for his generosity.

A relayed direct call from his boss stirred him to action. He was required to complete his task related to the space station promptly because a new customer was experiencing satellite orbit decay and Carson wanted him to join a CTSS team to solve the problem. He sent a reply telling Scanlon to organise someone else for the satellite job. Then he contacted the ASA team.

His instructions to Baz and his co-workers were that he would meet them on the orbiting docking station. He sent a message ahead to the CTSS staff on the docking station that he would need to attach two high speed boosters to the Dart and they should put it on his company tab. He explained that he would perform the expensively wasteful maximum acceleration, deceleration transit to hasten completion of a new contract. Carson, having heard of his plans, called telling him the satellite decay was terminal if he didn't address it, so it took priority. He also reminded Cal that he had been off Earth for four months, apart from the week he had at home before he was interrupted for the Interspace contract, and was due a terrestrial rotation, maybe even an extended holiday. Cal said not to fuss; his leave was cumulative and accrued additional days and pay loading applied at an increasing rate, per employment agreement for time over rostered duty. Carson's retort sounded uncharacteristically concerned about his welfare when he intimated his zeal for his work; 'That was right, if he could ever get off the treadmill to enjoy it'. It inferred an unspoken agenda. Perhaps he now resented Cal's flexible contract arrangements.

The whole thing left Cal befuddled. He didn't understand Carson's erratic demands. Casting it from his mind he focussed on finishing his stint on the space station.

***

He couldn't contain his mirth taking in the scene as he approached the station. His robot guards were still in their space suits, wandering around the docking points looking, for all the world like maintenance men working and security guards patrolling. He wondered what the returning crew made of his subterfuge. He hadn't elaborated on the full extent of his ploy to portray the space station as being capably defended. He replayed the tussles he had getting the machines clad in suits and sniggered again. There would be questions to answer.

Grappling onto the same clamping bar as his previous sojourn, Cal entered the space station by the inconvenient and unheralded C2 airlock. It was his preference, mostly because of the bustle of activity at the docking stations with a third pair of shuttles recently arriving. But this way he was also avoiding formal greeting with the Talbots. The highly charged interactions were now foremost in his thinking.

Because it was still an uninhabited part of the torus, Cal saw no one as he made his way to his room. Strangely, the first thing he did was pack all his belongings into a rucksack. It was a declaration that his term there had ended. The tantalising promise of a meaningful relationship had sublimated into the ether. What had seemed solid was barely a vapour.

Cal began writing his report on his digital device. The room was a self-imposed exile. And, even though the plan was to be single minded, to complete his contract, his thoughts still strayed to that dark-haired girl who continuously upset his equilibrium.

He was almost finished when his communicator sounded. Gardiner Talbot was summoning him. "Why didn't you tell us you were on board? I had to hear from Carson that your intel' placed you here."

"Sorry if I inconvenienced you...Just thought it best to complete the contract before I got distracted." And that was one of the truest things he had said, he decided.

"Mm..." Talbot, to his credit, read between the lines. "Well, we need you up here. Nobody can redeploy those robots until you release them from your encrypted script. Though, I must say, wearing those spacesuits, they were devastatingly convincing. I was trying to work out who could have arrived before us till I remembered you said you put the bots to work."

Cal refrained from smiling. This was going to be all business. After all, the man thought he was superficial. That wasn't the basis for a convivial relationship. "I'll get onto decommissioning the task routine." The call ended. He had almost bragged that they could have performed the task indefinitely since the robots were programmed to cycle, in turn, through recharge periods. The temptation was great, but that would be superficial, he reasoned. He went up to the computer room. A few extra lines, some linked files, a page of recommendations and a quickly composed stipulation about quotes and no bonuses and he was done. Copies were sent to his boss, his archive cache and to Gardiner Talbot himself.

It didn't take too long to recall the bots and feed them through several airlocks. He chuckled again at the ridiculous lengths he had gone to. Dressing robots in spacesuits was plainly whacky.

He was drinking coffee at his desk finalising the company invoice when Chloe's soft voice diverted his attention. "So, have you been avoiding me?"

"I thought it was the other way around," he replied. He brushed his fringe out of his eyes as he raised his head to her. "I mean...You fairly well ignored me at Moon Base."

She put a hand on his shoulder. "Mm...Yes...I'm sorry that happened...there are reasons. My dad and I have been having an ongoing argument." Chloe's face showed her angst. The discord with her father was unusual and difficult to deal with. "Come and have lunch with me and we'll talk about it."

***

They were eating in the 'A' section dining area.

"I have to be honest, I thought you were a witch after I first met you...a very attractive witch mind you," he qualified when he saw her eyes widen in a defensively indignant mannerism. He quickly defended his comment, "But you were painting me as a conniving space pirate, or the like...and, for someone who's usually commended for my ability to solve technical problems...well, my nose was out of joint."

"And it's such a beautiful nose too," she teased.

"Well, as I've got to know you..." he grimaced at his own muddled stumbling. "Well, that's all changed."

"You mean I'm not a witch?"

"No...seriously...I've grown particularly fond of you."

"Fond?" Chloe had a smirk as if she was determined to prolong his pain.

His eyes attempted to look under his eyelids as he battled to find the right words. "It's just that...when this is over...well, I'd like to see you again."

Chloe finally relented. After all, she was charmed by the roguish 'software engineer and systems analyst'—a title she had recently unearthed in a search on the web. "I'd like to see you too...but...um, my dad is not too keen on you."

"What do you mean? He seemed happy with me...was very complimentary about my decommissioning the quantum computer." The latter was stated ironically. He said nothing of the argument about him that had been related by Riordan and obliquely confirmed by her.

"When I told him you are a believer, he sounded doubtful. He asked me whether you knew I was a Christian before you told me."

Cal closed his eyes, registering Talbot's contention. "So, he thinks I'm pretending to be a believer to impress you...make myself more acceptable?"

"Would you have said anything if I hadn't told you?"

Cal looked steadily at her. Would it have occurred to him? Was this a trick?

"I said it because the subject came up," he argued. It was a satisfying comeback. He was rationalising his reticence to speak of his beliefs to others. He had preferred the view that you don't go spouting your personal beliefs to everyone. He thought then of his sister. Hayley was very proactive about her faith. That was a contrast to his position. But it was different for her, he asserted. She was one of those outgoing people who bubbled about the things she was passionate about despite her physical condition. He knew his faith was based on sound reasoning but an annoying irritation arose when he wondered why people doubted him—hinting that he wasn't genuine. It niggled him so much, the idea that maybe he was missing the point, his jaw clenched in response.

Chloe took a sip of her drink and quietly commented, "Maybe you should talk to my dad about it."

His mind objected. 'Why should he argue about whether he was good enough for Chloe?' He withheld the protest. Nothing of his defiance was verbalised. "Yeah..." The concession seemed to please Chloe. Maybe Cal would go into battle for them both.

"Do you want me to tell him you have something to discuss?" She had that same joyful glint in her eye, the same girlish mischief that he had been captivated by earlier at Interspace's moon offices.

"No...no, it's okay. I have to see him anyway...signing off on my contract. I'll...I'll..." he groped for a coherent stance to take. "...I'll tell him how I feel." In retrospect that didn't come across as a sturdy foundation. He smiled and took a confident bite of his pizza slice as if that added weight to his statement.

Her hand slipped on his. Her eyes opened wider as if something significant was about to pass between them. "I didn't thank you for what you did for my dad. I mean, on top of everything with the computers and the station, you rescued him from Bailey and Barnet."

"It was the bots. I was just a distraction to help the operators identify him." He added resentfully, "A distraction...I think that's how your dad would describe me." Her hand retreated.

"You know he's not nasty or anything...He's just protective."

"Yeah...I'm sorry." Cal left it at that. He wasn't sure whether his regret was for what he said or the perceived injustice of his treatment.

***

It was about an hour later that Cal entered Talbot's office. He passed over a hard copy of his report and an envelope with the invoice on a company letterhead. "You'll get digital copies of these. One of my recommendations is a further audit in six months' time when the new software has accumulated sufficient statistical data to make data driven or experienced decisions to automate your processes."

Talbot stood and offered his hand. Once they had shaken, he spoke slowly. "I have been unfair to you Dorner." His gaze was steady and Cal anticipated that maybe he wasn't frowned upon any more as a potential suitor. The business magnate continued. "You have done an amazing job...far beyond the bounds of your performance criteria. Crew members have attested to your releasing them from being trapped by robots, you regain control of QARC and repulsed an illegal boarding party, all in addition to your audit role. I especially need to express my thanks for orchestrating my rescue from those two greedy men." He manufactured a smile. "I admit this is belated gratitude and I haven't looked upon you in a particularly kindly manner...but credit where credit is due."

Cal warmed to him a little then. The tough exterior had softened a little. He was weighing up how to break into the topic of his affection for Chloe when the space mogul went on. "Because of this excellent work I want to double your fee."

Cal jumped in. "That's very generous of you Mr Talbot, but I'm afraid it's contrary to company policy. Our quotes are quite high but we stick to our quotes. Carson—Mr Temple—is very strict about that."

"That's quite laudable, but I could make it a personal bonus."

"I'm afraid not. You can talk to Carson about it but I won't accept personal payment." He was about to add that Carson paid him well, but thought better of it.

The older man looked down at the sheaf of papers Cal had given him. He was cogitating over what to say next. The young contractor seized the moment as an opportune time to broach this unspoken point of conflict. "Er...Mr Talbot...in the course of my work here I have become quite fond of your daughter and...well, I hope to see more of her."

Talbot sighed. It seemed the discussion had become inevitable. "Cal isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Call me Gardiner...Cal, my daughter is a young woman of deep faith. I'm not sure you're the right person for her."

Immediately his hackles were raised. "I have faith!"

"I'm not talking about a mental assent. You believe in God...Maybe you believe everything the Bible says about Jesus. You know the demons also believe and tremble."

"What? You're calling me a demon now?"

"Don't be silly. I'm just making a point. What have you done about this, so-called, faith? How has it changed you? You can't go around saying I'm a believer and it makes no difference to your life."

"I thought I didn't have to do anything...you know... 'by faith alone'."

"It is by faith alone...real faith, transforming faith...not this dilute, half baked, 'I said the prayer' insurance policy that you call Christian faith."

Cal raised his head in disbelief. He was arguing religion with the founder and CEO of Interspace and being told he was not good enough for the magnate's daughter.

"So...what are you saying? I have to prove myself; go to church every Sunday...earn some sort of merit badge?"

"That's exactly what I'm not saying." He wagged his head disconsolately. "You need to get real faith...faith that puts your beliefs into action. You need to walk in the footsteps of Jesus."

"This doesn't sound like the 'not of works' gospel that I was taught."

Gardiner Talbot bowed his head, bit his lip and then raised it again. "Imagine you're in a plane and about to jump. You check. You have your parachute and everything's okay. You jump. On the way down you keep telling yourself...you've got your parachute and everything's okay. You may even shout out to other jumpers that you've got your parachute. But if you never put it into action...everything's not okay."

The words distilled into an evocative picture for Cal. "You don't know me that well," he countered.

Talbot's voice dropped. There was a weariness in the way he spoke. "You're right...and...I shouldn't be judging you. I'm saying things I have no right to say...except...except, Chloe is my daughter. I don't want to see her charmed by some dashing hero when the person has no...no gravity."

"No gravity?"

"There's no point in your life where everything is focussed...where everything is drawn to...where your substance abides."

Cal thought furiously for evidence of the centre of his being. A harsh notion dawned on him. He was the centre of his own life. Everything he did, he did for Calvin Dorner.

Talbot mistook his lack of response as denial, and now he took his indictment one scathing step further. "Cal, you're weightless, drifting aimlessly until something pulls you this way or that. How can I be sure my daughter isn't merely such an attraction?"

Cal's stomach churned. The implication that his life was all about him was difficult to contest. Confronting the cruel verdict that Talbot presented made him introspective. 'Weightless'. Was that another way of saying that he wasn't grounded, that he didn't have a firm foundation?

"I'm sorry you feel this way. I have to go." He spun around and virtually fled the office.

He spent the latter part of the afternoon taking the spacesuits off the robots, pleased that the air didn't need to be recharged. It was while he was observing the intricate movements of the mechanical, humanoid limbs being extracted from each suit that his examination of the machines became particularly focussed. Light titanium alloy appendages that were fed by touch sensors which contributed to the motion algorithms to produce reactive movements. He stared at the mechanism. A barrage of 'what if' questions pounded his thinking. "Something else for you to think about Mr Dorner," he addressed himself theatrically.

Toward the chronometric evening he tasked himself with packing his things in the Dart and avoiding Chloe. He was bereft of an explanation for what happened with her father. And, he was too much of a coward to pass on to her that realisation. For him the stark reality was not a vigorous rebuttal of Talbot's appraisal but of admitting to Chloe that her father was right. It was a reality that he wished to escape. The emotional disarray he was in caused him to defer his departure till the next day. His sleep was restless. Cal's mind was in turmoil trying to address his shortcomings and feeling the oppressive tug of the one g force on his body after days of minimal gravity. The accusation of 'weightless' troubled him most. It wasn't freedom it was aimlessness. The allusion called to mind that gravity increased with mass; the greater the substance the corresponding increase in gravity.

Next morning, he decided to breakfast before his rendezvous with the ASA IT specialists. It was early so he hoped to evade any embarrassing farewells. Munching on his cereal, he made plans for re-assessing his direction in life. He would talk to his parents and his sister, maybe even ask advice from their pastor. He was mortified when Chloe came in and, after grabbing breakfast from a servery, she sat beside him.

"When are you leaving?" she asked. Depositing a bowl of fruit and muesli in front of her she then placed a device on the table.

"After breakfast."

"Were you going to say goodbye?" She examined his face and then reproached him. "You weren't, were you?"

What could he say; 'Your dad just wants to get rid of me'?

She began reading from her device. It was a Bible passage.

"Is that for my benefit?" he sniped, and then instantly regretted it. Instead of reacting angrily, Chloe looked sad.

"It's what my dad and I do every morning. We read, we discuss and we pray. Once the habit is formed it's not so hard to do. The thing then is to make sure it doesn't become a ritual."

He evaluated his character then. There was a self-loathing. It was like seeing himself clearly for the first time. In a sense she was too good for him. He considered his wayward thoughts, his duplicity in his life—only being open about his faith with family and within their church circle of acquaintances. If they got together, he would be the one to drag her down. He would never measure up to Gardiner's standards and would always be a disappointment.

Somehow he would save her the pain of enduring his fickle existence. He had to get out of her life. "Chloe, I think your father is right. My life has been superficial. I don't think I'd be good for you."

"What about what I think? Don't I get a say in this?"

"I wouldn't want you to go against your father and...and he wants the best for you."

"Well maybe, and, I love my dad, but he's not always right. I don't think he knows you the way I know you."

"Listen...I have to go onto another job. Talk to your dad. Let him explain why I'm no good for you. You deserve better than me." Cal stood. "Bye Chloe." Collecting his dishes, he quickly stacked them to be washed and left.

Chloe's gaze followed him. "Bye," she murmured. Tears welled in her eyes. She closed them, bowed her head and rubbed her forehead pensively.

***

The speedy trip to the docking platform was still too long for his liking. Self-loathing didn't sit well with him. And yet somehow it was unavoidable; he was weightless. The lure of the space station had faded for Cal. His boisterous superficial extroversion had been curtailed by self-doubt, by feelings of inadequacy and by the looming threat of rejection. Coming to terms with the idea that somehow his faith was inadequate, he read the Gospels for the first time in some years. It was confronting. He should be bearing fruit. He realised that these ideas were well-known to his family, and should have been to him too, but for some reason there was an obstinacy about him that wanted to trivialise the metaphor. He did a web search on what values Christians should demonstrate and was inundated by screes of Christian living sites.

He selected one that suggested Christ called for followers. That by following Him we should emulate his character. What ensued was a list of ten characteristics that should be evident in Christians. Each was accompanied by a reference. He read them: Compassionate, a servant, loving, forgiving, committed, prayerful, gentle, patient, self-controlled and humble. Cal was appalled. He couldn't, in good conscience, tick one off that list and confidently say that it described him.

He closed the digital text. Why was the written word so abrasive, so cutting? In this incredible expanse of space with the huge globe of Earth clear in his vision he sensed the awesome presence of the ultimate Gravity, the One who holds all things together. "I will read more," he muttered. "Can you ease off on the guilt?"

Little more thought was had about his destitute spiritual condition as the craft drew closer to the orbiting docking platform and the reversed orientation of his craft allowed for retro propulsive thrust to match the platform's orbit. The platform, itself, was now an orbiting space station. It had extensive modules for engineers, researchers, technicians and spacecraft maintenance staff. Three docking robotic arms were placed on the sides of a flat surface. Each of these was capable of latching onto a spacecraft and bringing it to a docking point on the sides of the station. There were also two pressure sealed hangars, mainly for larger transports. It was the original 'platform' that was retained as the docking station's preferred name.

Computers guided the docking and soon he was on board going to the module dedicated for CTSS use. He floated in and saw two people. Giselle and Scanlon were rostered on. Both used fabric adherence to stay at their work stations. Scanlon turned and was abrupt. "Where have you been? We were expecting you yesterday."

"I had to finish off...Anyway, I shouldn't even be doing this." The moment he said it, he chastened himself. That was the person he didn't want to be.

"Didn't CT explain? This is an emergency. That satellite will have to be destroyed if you can't restore its orbit."

"I was hoping to go to Mars...they've got a problem."

"You're telling me," replied Scanlon. "Mars is blacked out for some reason. We can't even get any messages from our Mars base."

Cal looked around. "Where are the others? I was meant to meet three ASA guys. We should meet and work out a plan of action."

"Nuh...they've gone, about..." He turned to the woman working on the screens. "How long Gis?"

She looked around. "About twenty hours ago...Hello Cal." She acknowledged him and then returned to her work. "Hi," he returned before addressing Scanlon. "So...they don't need me?"

"No...they want you...But Carson said to say he doesn't want you to go."

"So, why did they go?"

Giselle made a contribution. "Barry said it was just important to get things moving."

Agitated for a moment at his boss's transgressing of their agreement, Cal saw a way out. "If I solve the satellite problem using a pod, could you get the Dart ready?"

Giselle looked triumphant. "The maints are already attaching two boosters to Dart. That should allow you to catch up a bit." She looked at her co-worker. "Told you."

"You have to deliver on the satellite first, ASAP," droned Scanlon. He passed the orbital data on a tablet. Cal wirelessly transferred it to his wearable computer. "I'll get onto this right away...find out what you can about Mars and...and, don't say anything to Carson. He'll just get ulcers...thanks." The postscript accompanied a parting wave.

***

The satellite problem came to the forefront of Cal's attention. With an EVA suit on he piloted a non-pressurised pod to match the satellite's degrading orbit. After several attempts and a growing dread that he was nearing an irretrievable plunge to Earth, he finally succeeded. A small robotic arm attached to the satellite and he entered the orbit specifications into the pod's flight computer. It took five minutes of full burn to reinstate the apparatus in its proper place. Cal downloaded its data onto his computer and monitored its performance. An interchange between him and Giselle and the operator confirmed that all systems were optimal and it was back on line. Cal had used four hours to do something that in the early years of satellite rescue took days to plan and schedule.

On his return he experienced a discomfiting sensation. What could be so bad that Baz and his colleagues couldn't wait? He looked at Giselle.

"So...Do you have any idea what happened?"

"It's an unprecedented breakdown. No solar storms recorded. Earth control suggests a catastrophic event, but has no details."

"What sort of event?"

"I don't know...They were just speculating...you know the sort of thing...meteorites, habitat breaches...even Mars quakes."

"You're saying the whole Mars' network is dead?"

"That's what it looks like."

His discomfort was mutating into a growling suspicion.

***

Cal was not looking forward to the task. For one, the two boosters meant a long uncomfortable acceleration. It would mean his ship's starting mass would be more than ninety percent fuel. He would burn about half to gain his maximum velocity and less than a quarter—because of his reduced mass—to slow down for Mars orbit. The plan would be to refuel at Mars Docking Station for the return flight. If they had been affected by this mysterious event then he would have a slow return journey.

"How long will it take to attach the boosters?"

Giselle, who was still focussed on her computer, spoke. "They say another two hours. They're being encouraged to prioritise your ship. It may take a bit longer with refuel of Dart and a full rundown."

"I had fuel and diagnostics on Moon base, so you can tell them to only do a main check."

Giselle disagreed. "Mars is a long way. Policy says we do a full and get a safety endorsement."

Cal shrugged. "What are the vacuum showers like here?"

The young woman turned and grinned. "You won't believe it. We now have three body wash installations. I'll book you into one if you want."

"Yes please. I may as well start clean."

The body wash was a delicious innovation. The astronaut lowered into a tall container, like a stretched washing machine, brought a flexible collar out of the top circle of the tub around his neck sealing him in and then filled the tub with warm water. The taps and soap dispenser in the machine ensured a cleaning luxurious experience. At the conclusion a lever activated a vacuum drain and spray rinse that facilitated recycling of the water.

***

A couple of maintenance techs were working on a faulty data link with one of the boosters so he had more time than he had bargained for. He called Hayley on a video link and brought her up to date on his adventures.

"So, did you meet Chloe Talbot?" She trilled like a schoolgirl.

"How did you know she was there?"

"It was on the news vids...Did you?"

"Yes." Cal didn't particularly want to elaborate on something that was chafing his psyche.

"Oh...she seems so down to earth. Is she as beautiful in person? You know she's a Christian?" Hayley was prattling and his eyes glazed as he remembered her first prickly accusations.

"What's wrong Cal? What happened?" She knew her brother well enough to register his dismay.

"I guess you could say we had a bit of a run in."

"Oh Cal...What did you say?"

He studied his sister. Was that an estimation of his character; that when conflict occurred his behaviour was called into question? He didn't respond or remonstrate about the evaluation. "It was sorted out later," he added meekly.

"So you're friends?"

"Let's say she likes me more than her father does." He recalled her repudiation of her father's estimation of him. Maybe she did care, but he agreed with Gardiner. There was nothing morally substantial in the way he lived his life. His commitment to faith was shallow. And maybe in the end, he had snubbed her?

"There's something you're not telling me," claimed Hayley.

He vented then. "Look Hayley, even if I did like her...she's way out of my league...she's...she's a good Christian and...I'm not." It disturbed him that he had declared statements that had echoed in his head.

Hayley grasped his anguish. Her voice softened with compassion. "None of us will ever measure up to what we should be. You should read Romans seven and eight. Paul realises he's not good enough."

Cal smiled. He could always rely on his sister to get to the nub of the issue. "Thanks sis...I'll check it out." For once he intended to follow it through.

The latter part of the connection was Cal promising to get in touch with his parents. His father, in particular, had persuaded Hayley to hint, not too subtly, that he had been lax in contacting his mother. The whole storm of observations about him gnawed at his self-worth. He left the communicator considering the alternatives between two courses of action—to lift his game with his faith, his family and his friends or to indulge in his all-consuming job, taking greater risks and seeking greater recognition.

Chapter 9

In the end, with one minor setback after another in the preparation of his spacecraft, he was delayed two more days. Then he left. Hurtling toward the red planet with a steady burn of fuel maintaining one g acceleration, Cal drank in the blackness of space, the diminishing abundance of his home planet and the unreachable jewels of his home galaxy. After ten hours he was doing one point two seven million kilometres per hour and the engines shut off. He would travel like this for a few days. Occasionally the computers would see fit to bump the booster clad Dart to a more exact course.

The isolation and tedium allowed his thoughts to return over and over again to Chloe. How unattainable she was for someone like him. His shortcomings rose up in his mind like a barrage of protests. His hypocrisy, his pride, his lowly status compared to the Interspace heiress and his inadequacy in the eyes of Gardiner Talbot. It all conspired to foil any desires he had of building a relationship. To quell his growing desolation, he took to reading his Bible. The sense that the creator of the ineffable vastness about him desired to be known, desired to be followed and obeyed, filled him with awe.

It struck Cal that when he was on Earth, the enclosed atmosphere could delude him into thinking that human endeavours and material prosperity were the drivers of existence, the reason for living. But out in the enormity of space he felt insignificant. His maker loomed large. Self-consciousness, God consciousness coalesced and urged him to reacquaint with the mediator who called him to eternal union.

He opened his digital Bible to Romans. Paul built up a case for his wretched state. His cry, 'who shall rescue me from this body that is subject to death? Thanks be to God, who delivers me through Jesus Christ our Lord... Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus, because through Christ Jesus the law of the Spirit who gives life has set you free from the law of sin and death.'

The words were somewhat recognisable but their import assaulted his senses. It wasn't about him; it was about Jesus. Jesus had set him free. Maybe he hadn't sensed his freedom because God had seemed so far off. Merely reading those words had somehow brought God so much closer. The remainder of the passage reiterated the struggle between his natural inclinations and the influence of the Spirit. And, the words soared with the all-sufficient work of God to give victory in life.

Cal felt enveloped by the hand of God in that insignificant capsule. He looked up the concept of being near to God and was confronted, in James, by the glaring truth. God wanted his Spirit active in Cal's life. He had to resist the Devil—all those things that drew him away—and draw near to God. He was double minded; he had a stake in each camp, and the impetus for his descent was his pride. He had to humble himself. Cal confessed the self-confidence, the false image of assured competence and of being an unmatched trouble shooter that had dominated his life. He said sorry numerous times. He didn't want Jesus to be an afterthought. Maybe that was why Chloe and her dad began each day reading the word—putting priorities in context.

The struggles in his mind didn't vanish. He didn't expunge the thoughts about Chloe from his mind; but now there was greater and growing contentment. In his waking hours, when piloting checks were done, Cal read the scriptures. He had been reminded that God works for the good of those who love him, who are called according to his purpose. And love was demonstrated by obedience. Trusting and contentment were keystones in Christian living. It wasn't about feelings but about facts—what God had done and continues to do, how he should demonstrate a servant heart and submit to God's word. In some ways this mindset was so foreign to him, and in some ways it gave him an insight into how his parents and his sister could be joyful despite the hardships they endured. When Paul wrote about pressing on and striving and fighting for a disciplined life, he became acutely aware that his was a sedentary approach to faith. Let it happen. The problem was when you did nothing then nothing happened.

As the barren orb of the red planet expanded in the viewing window, Cal called several of the contacts he had been supplied with. But Mars was silent. No word from CTSS staff on the surface, nothing from main terminal control and nothing from the large Interspace complex. What was more troubling was that he couldn't contact his new colleagues. Baz, Aldo and Viktor all didn't respond. Suspicions abounded as he listened to the receiver trying to intercept a stray message. What could wipe out a whole community, destroy infrastructure and yet not be detected by any of an array of electronic devices orbiting Mars and aimed at the planet from Earth?

One scenario, one awful confluence of events, niggled at him as a possibility—Haslet Burnell. Here was a man who had defied space conventions, tried to take possession of a competitor's facility and was still about, ostensibly, with the same nefarious ambitions. If he had somehow overwhelmed the colony it would suggest that the space station had only been a minor setback in a much bigger plan. And if he was in control, then the docking platform would not be a safe option.

There was a solution but it seemed a bit drastic. In his mind he considered the parameters. The boosters had to stay in orbit; that was always the case. He needed to land undetected. The landing point had to be close enough to allow some form of travel to the domed settlement. He had to find the five hundred or so inhabitants, and he had to solve the breakdown in communications. They were the issues in order. He would attempt to solve them sequentially, hoping that as he went, the way would become clearer.

The boosters. He could leave them cabled together in orbit. They had sufficient smart hardware to locate them. However, it would be a horrendous task reattaching them in weightless conditions with no purchase on a platform, and that was apart from achieving a safe separation to begin with. No, the solution was self-evident. Phobos was a natural platform. He would drill a hook into the surface, since it had no gravity to speak of, and anchor the boosters to it. The hooks on board were used to drill into and attach on defunct satellites that were reclaimed or salvaged for recycling on the moon. It was a job CTSS got by default because, either the satellite had become a re-entry danger, or, by customer request, it had served its usefulness. Once that was done, he could land the much lighter Dart with little fuss.

The question of where to land posed the next problem. The water mining facility near the northern pole was quite a long way off; almost too far for a rover, and he had no idea if any of the battery powered vehicles were available. The abandoned US settlement was a possibility, though how usable it was for shelter he was unsure. It had been gutted more than the others. The site of the original colony appealed to him most. It was far enough away to land unobserved and close enough to bridge the gap, walking if he had to but he was aware of two old electric travellers that news reports said were still operational. The designers had started them up remotely from earth for the sole reason of parading the vehicles' durability and the quality of their design.

There was little more he could plan. The whereabouts of the colony's inhabitants was an unknown. For all he knew, they were still operating normally in the pressurised habitats and some catastrophic malfunction had cut them off from outside contact. Cal pinched his nose as if that would clarify his thinking. His instincts about these things suggested it was more than a technical foul up; something ominous beckoned from the barren planet ahead. It was not only a hunch; he knew that backup and multiple redundancies were the common and accepted practice—this shouldn't have happened. If anywhere was prepared for unforeseen mishaps it was Mars Colony.

Twenty minutes were spent reorienting the Dart with ancillary rockets to swing it to the reverse direction for the lengthy retrograde acceleration using the main boosters. This burn was of eight hours duration, and its reduction was accounted for by the fuel consumed which reduced the total mass. A rear facing camera gave him a view of his destination. Gazing at the enlarging pinkish ochre sphere with white caps at the poles, he recalled his one previous Martian stay. He had gone to solve a contamination problem with the Mars methane fuel production. The well-known reaction was meant to combine the hydrogen from water electrolysis with compressed carbon dioxide from the atmosphere, under catalysis and heat, to produce methane and water. He had soon uncovered the reason for the poor performance of the fuel reactor. He found that the ruthenium catalyst on several of the plant modules had been contaminated by highly charged Martian dust particles. To rectify the problem, he had set up an electrostatic atmospheric filter to treat the predominantly CO2 gas before it was compressed and fed into the Sabatier reactors. Cal remembered thinking it was a long way to go for a relatively simple fix. Of course, having made the journey he made the most of the opportunity. He toured every nook of the moderately sized settlement before he was required to leave for other work projects.

A pleasant memory of the hospitality of James and Kelly Schwartz flooded his thoughts. The elderly couple ran the greenhouses which produced the majority of the fresh food for the community. He wondered if they were still there. Kelly had stated, then, that they had returned from Earth after raising a family. She had deemed Mars an unfair restriction on the outdoor experiences that their children needed.

"We thought we'd bring them back here for a reunion." She had declared as a matter of fact. Cal had concluded that being a daughter of the, long deceased, legendary General Roberts, a pioneer of extra-terrestrial colonies, gave her privileges that few could equal.

Another recollection about them rose starkly in his mind. It had been James, upon learning that he was a Christian, quizzing him on Bible study passages, strategies for sharing his faith and details of his faith journey. To his shame, he had fudged the answers with oblique references to Paul's letters, being naturally transparent and citing more about Hayley's experiences than his own.

His ruminations were disturbed by an alarm. He had a transmission from CTSS. The nature of the signal delay meant that the message was a series of statements and questions that attempted to predict Cal's actions. Giselle informed him that no contact could be made with the team or the surface installation. Data analysis had determined that the orbiting docking station was compromised. She warned about being wary of industrial terrorists patrolling the planet after the clash with Burnell's raiders and she said Temple had ordered that he sling around Mars for an immediate return. The rationale for such a drastic response was the risk to him. Scanlon and Giselle told him intelligence they had gleaned, and intercepted communications, reported that Burnell had a mercenary force and had commandeered the key installations on Mars. He heard that Carson said he was trying to mobilise a joint US and European space agency police action under UN auspices but expressed a grievance that the wheels of bureaucracy moved slowly.

Cal was annoyed at Carson's insistence. Normally he would recommend, not order. And Cal would understand, familiar with the way his boss operated, that it was how the CEO abrogated liability. It would be on the record that he advised caution and withdrawal. Maybe Carson was tiring of his private agenda. The truth was they were employed as trouble shooters and that sometimes meant taking untoward risks to generate a solution. His private contract with ASA was no different. The nuanced additional intelligence strongly implied, for him, that his course of action was to land and destabilise any organised opposition. Risks were one thing he was acquainted with but he still chided himself not to be reckless.

***

On Phobos, Cal took great pains to secure anchors into the abraded moon's surface. Inside the immense crater Stickney, and looking over the crater rim, he could see half of the Martian sphere six thousand kilometres away. Working in his space suit, he drilled a series of titanium hooks with diamond tips and tungsten steel threads. The initial hook was hardest to place as he had no purchase to prevent himself being flung in the opposite direction of the drill bit. Several times he was bounced away and floating until small directed gas jets brought him back. Eventually a punch from the spinning drill took hold. Braces from the drill were then placed against the rotational direction of motion so he didn't spin around wildly. The first one was finally imbedded. From there he used each hook to provide a fixed point from which to apply an opposing force. He needed the anchors for two main reasons. Firstly, to restrain the Dart and himself with tethers because of the feeble gravity, and then to provide a hitching point for the boosters to be tethered to. He used the robotic arms, to which the docking clamps were attached, to gently place the huge booster rockets on the surface.

By the time he had tied the propulsive units to the flat, pitted rock surface he was extremely weary. Inside the Dart he recharged the air cylinders, replaced the CO2 scrubbers and ensured he had a spare life support pack ready in addition to a fully supplied spare suit. Clinging onto the Phobos surface, he had seen day and night on the planet below, and was again entering the daylight side. Cal found its rapid orbit was not unlike a distant man-made Earth satellite. He forced himself to rest for a few hours before embarking on the excursion to unknown complications in a naturally hostile environment. Sleep didn't come but he reasoned the inactivity would give him some physical recovery.

***

Casting off from the surface of Phobos needed little more than the retracting of the docking clamps and a few directional cold gas jets. Leaving the bulk of his mass and fuel load behind made Dart far more manoeuvrable. He had waited till the Martian night had settled on the cluster of settlements. The Dart's computers did easily what he would have found almost impossible. They curved him through the scant atmosphere, angling the broad underside as a large braking shield and supplementing that with braking rocket thrusts. The computers pinpointed his landing zone, corrected the direction with the Vernier thruster and landed the craft, lightly, on the dust covered pad of the original base.

The base was about two thousand kilometres north of the equator. It still had about half its original array of solar panels, with the others having been re-claimed for use to bolster the increasing demands of the newer settlement compounds. Whether he could locate the electric travellers and ensure their capability to make the ninety k north to Mars Colony was still conjecture. The general view was that much of the old facility was still viable regarding energy generation and pressurised shelters. It had been abandoned because the new site had an underground aquifer—deep and hardly frozen. Both the original, near the Pinwheel crater, and U.S. site couldn't compete with that advantage, and all the groups consolidated near the twin craters—a particularly featureless area when contrasted with other regions.

Cal suited up again and exited the airlock of the Dart. A light on his helmet illuminated the dusty surface leading to the entrance. Several thumps against the red airlock button were required before he felt the faint vibrations of air being evacuated from the entry point. A red light visible through an observation plate told him he could enter. The process was reversed before he could access the building proper.

A gauge on his wrist deemed the air breathable. He removed his helmet. Inside, the air was stuffy, metallic tasting and cold. Heavy insulation, excess energy consigned to heating and his protective suit all made it bearable. Empty shelves and racks reinforced the neglected, abandoned feel of the first cellular module. A grinding squeal from the sliding pressure door preceded his entry to the next module. This common area led off to a kitchen-dining arrangement and the sleeping quarters of the forty-five strong earliest crew. Much was the same as the day when everyone left. Usable implements and consumable materials were taken but the large fixtures, such as cookers and refrigeration stood idle. The greenhouse was just a shell and the fuel and oxygen production facility had also been stripped bare. Only a tiny unit kept the air slightly rich in oxygen. On Mars every old establishment was left, 'just in case'.

Cal wandered around the deserted base, keen to locate the electric vehicles. Getting to the main colony as soon as possible was critical. The longer his search took the more likely things could go wrong. Whether they were fully operational and charged or not was not an issue for him. He was confident that battery packs and motors could be restored to optimum working order. In his mind he was already envisaging a doubling up of batteries to ensure the ninety kilometre trip would go without a hitch. He was still wrestling with the challenge of making the provision of air interchangeable with the old life support packs assigned to each vehicle, when he entered the large equipment depot. It was almost as empty as the rest of the building except for the two travellers, which were backed into the charging assembly, and also, dumped in a corner, a stack of superseded solar panels.

He was aware the vehicles had been left at the base for the specific purpose of providing emergency transport but little else remained. There were no spare batteries, no spare pressurised air or oxygen tanks and only a few caches of electrical equipment and general spare parts for the travellers. He would have to layer the battery set from one machine onto the other. He would also have to use a transfer hose from the second life support pack to his suit, using that supply while driving and carrying the other pack when mobile.

***

Hours later he admired his modifications. The travellers had lived up to the hype. The batteries and motors were almost in prime condition. Cal had fixed a frame that supported four photovoltaic panels on the vehicle's metal protective cage. With a small transformer it would provide a measure of insurance if anything went wrong. Using the adjacent airlock to drive out beside the Dart had him completing his preparations. Provisions were packed with a mind to not overload and he was conscious that he was already weighing the traveller down with extra lithium batteries and the solar panels.

A brief check in Dart for any radio traffic came up with static. The sun was beginning to rise as he prepared to leave. As the radiation struck the Dart, he became acutely conscious of how visible the distant Sol made his ship. Cal surveyed the whole area turning three sixty degrees. It left one dominant impression—bleak.

An old hangar seemed to beckon. Within the towering structure a mobile platform sat parked where it had been left. It was nestled into a charging jig. He used the control pad to ease the lumbering rocket conveyance out to the Dart. Capable of lifting and moving sizable freighters, the lightweight Dart was easily hoisted and rolled into the old dark building. He hoped it would be difficult to see without an intentional search in the oversized shelter.

It was exceedingly cold, yet he knew that would change as the day progressed. Rapid temperature fluctuations were the norm. It would spiral from the frigid night to the radiant heat of the thinly filtered sunlight during the day. Of course, such changes could go unnoticed in his protective temperature-controlled suit, but he suspected the electric engine might be affected. Cal reminded himself to monitor its performance.

He set off with the crater behind him. The rubberised, synthetic caterpillar tracks on the rear half of the vehicle threw up a spray of grit and gravel behind. He aimed the bulbous large front tyres to dodge the bigger boulders and stones while they flexed and shuddered over the smaller ones. The traveller was capable of sixty kilometres an hour on a straight flat course. However, Cal kept it to a maximum of forty because, even though this was part of the Martian low plains and comparably flat topographically, it was still rutted and rough. The rocky platform sloped down from the crater and then his route took him northwest crossing ruts and ancient washouts from the mountainous plateau he was leaving.

Threatening dust devils skittered across his path but they were only the faintest zephyrs funnelling microscopically fine particles into the thin atmosphere. Swerving to avoid the splatter gouges surrounding crater impact zones kept his attention on the rock-strewn terrain. For the first hour he didn't expect to see any sign of life, but as the stark shadows from the rising sun shrank and the twin craters of Mars Colony grew on the horizon, Cal searched the distance ahead. If the wrong people saw him his mission would be in vain.

He was approaching the secondary impact ridge of the first of the two craters, still a few kilometres from the main crater wall, when the top of the main dome came into view. From here his progress was tempered with extra caution. His course now diverted right to the nearest crater wall. Survey crews and science studies of various kinds could normally be expected outside the climate-controlled cocoon of the colony. It was not likely today. Still fearful of being exposed to view on the gradient up to the accumulation of domes and buildings that comprised the sealed habitat, he exited the traveller and climbed to the steep crater ridge. From there he could see the large complex spread out below. There was no movement.

When he gained a bit more height, the main southern entry was visible with the impressive spread of domes, hangars and greenhouses. Cal was yet to see any trace of inhabitants and he became more concerned. It was true that there were evacuation bunkers and tunnels to check. But why would they be there? He answered his own question. If some sort of hazard arose—chemical, biological or physical—that's where the populace would seek refuge. Maybe deadly fumes or a biological containment issue; he knew he was merely speculating. He would have to check.

When there was definitely no sign of movement for an extended period, he decided to return to the traveller. Suddenly a movement from the com centre drew his attention. The door swung out, returned a little and then opened. Two armed men came out. That resolved any doubts he had. He needed an alternative strategy. Cal forgot about sneaking in by the transport airlock and elected to gain entry via a private airlock belonging to CTSS. He drove ten kilometres around the crater perimeter over rubble and scree from the impact ejecta. He concealed the vehicle amongst boulders not far from the private landing strip and entry. After ensuring the tilt of the solar panels on the traveller received maximum benefit from the sun and checking the charging current, he advanced with a short loping sprint to the airlock.

Inside, everything was as though it had been recently evacuated. He set aside the cumbersome spacesuit with life support pack, stowing it carefully out of sight with other suits that would be used for external activities. Flitting from one building to another he managed to avoid running into anyone. In the central control room, Cal caught sight of two mercenaries overseeing the deliberations of a person at a terminal. This was the first evidence that colonists were still present, though under guard. From a distance, behind a glass partition, he examined all the monitoring programs. The systems were running. He left there and inspected the air purification plant, water treatment, electricity supply and computerised greenhouses, and they all functioned without fault. At the extreme end of the domed complex, connected by a tunnel, was the fuel production facility. It too was functioning normally. The communications centre was locked down and so, unless he broke in, he wouldn't be able to raise a signal on the satellites. It was obviously a concerted scheme to cut off the community from Earth. Because no provision against aggressive takeover had been ever considered for the base, Burnell's offensive would have been a virtual walkover. Weapons were unknown in the colony.

His computer communication app found only local networks, often ones he had no legitimate right to access. Either the satellites had been destroyed, damaged or shut down or all the associated coms had been put out action. Thinking ahead, Cal reasoned that, if it was the satellites, replacing them would be the easiest solution; restarting them was possible but it was a more complex and expensive venture. If they had been shut down, the control centre could direct reboot signals. It was something he would have to investigate further.

Sneaking into large warehouse structures, the full shelves were a welcome sight for Cal. Since the stores were all well stocked, survival for the colonists would hinge on how they were being treated. That redirected his attention to the whereabouts of the populace. From the storage centres he went to the largest of the communal eateries. The kitchens still had plentiful supplies. The idea of food stirred an appetite but his stay was short-lived as a squad of men tromped toward the entry. There was still no indication of where the missing colonists were.

He eventually found his way to the spacecraft workshops and they were deserted too. The cavernous quiet pressed eerily on him. It was like a voice insisted, 'I am here too. Wherever you go there I'll be.'

"You're here...but where's everyone else?" he said wryly to himself.

Toward the north there was another major entry. On the outside was the main series of landing pads cluttered with Burnell's distinctive utilitarian shuttle craft. Out farther there were some more isolated, self-contained buildings where the beginnings of the fledgling industries were housed. It was here, also, that the bore had been sunk that produced a strong flow of salty, ice slurry, water reckoned to come from past flows originating in the elevated volcanic mountains. Opposite, to the other side of the main entry airlock, a large solar farm had been erected. It appealed to him as another handy place to conceal the traveller. The track away from Mars Colony showed recent heavy traffic. Probably most of the vehicles had been used several times to transport mercenaries determined to ensure the original and US bases didn't harbour any refugees from their coup.

Cal decided to sample some of the food from one of the lesser kitchens rather than diminish his own resources. He trekked back a circuitous route, keeping low whenever the main buildings were visible and then choosing to walk through the green houses. The verdant growth and earthy smell of moist vegetation was evocative of Earth. It was an atmosphere that rejuvenated his senses and so contrary to the synthetic odours he was accustomed to. Lingering longer than he intended, he began snacking on fresh beans, some lettuce leaves and a ripe tomato. A niggling incongruence failed to define itself. He looked over his shoulder. Was he being watched?

The unsettling feeling remained with him and he hurried off to his selected destination. His neck prickled with foreboding. A smell of food was in the air. Cal edged to the servery where a coffee machine sat ready. A drip of milk on the stainless steel perforated plate drew his attention. It looked fresh. Someone was here. He remained still and listened and waited and scanned the cafeteria slowly. A plate on a bench. It had a toasted sandwich. Should he run? They must have seen him and they were hiding. If they were hiding, he could be almost certain they weren't mercenaries. The notion of teaming up with whoever it was became a possibility.

Behind the bench he found a rolling pin. Defence only, he told himself. A touch of bravado might dissuade an attack on him. He moved stealthily toward the forsaken plate holding the wooden roller up like a club. The tension in his legs knotted his muscles. A scuffing sound on the far side of the counter made his stomach torsion. "Don't move and stand up!" he shouted. The idiocy of his command made him wince. There was a further scraping and then two figures rose hands aloft.

"James?" asked Cal of the taller.

His face, in turn broke into a beaming grin. "Cal? ...Calvin Dorner, are we glad to see you. Kel, it's Cal." A handsome woman who he remembered from pictures had been a pretty, blonde turned her head. Relief was written all over her face. "You nearly scared us to death, Cal," she reprimanded and then came up and gave him a crushing hug.

"Good to see you too, Kelly," he managed with a restricted air supply. James followed and was also boisterous with a back-thumping hug.

"Where is everyone?" began Cal.

"Good question...when we saw these thugs herding out colonists, we hid under the drainage water recycling vat. They went past several times looking for us."

"It was scary and...and really uncomfortable," inserted Kelly.

"I thought it was kinda cosy," submitted James, for which he received a punch in the arm.

Cal grinned. The Schwartz's were one of those rarities these days—an elderly couple who seemed more in love every time he saw them. "So, you've come to rescue everyone?" postulated Kelly.

"Something like that." He looked about to see if there were any more surprises. "There's just the two of you?"

"Yeah, we haven't seen any of the others since they were taken and we hid a few days ago."

"There are plenty of those armed men though," complained Kelly.

"Where could they have taken them?" Cal was curious. "I mean, the old base is empty...maybe the old US station?"

"It's possible," replied James. "My guess though... and I think it's more likely...they're being held in the bunker?" he looked at Kelly for confirmation. "...and there are about five hundred?"

"Uh huh...and they'd have to feed them and...and...unless..." her face went ashen. "What if they've...killed them?" Her words were strained. "If whoever's done this has gotten rid of the community members, well...they'd have the place to themselves."

Cal tried to arrive at some sort of understanding about what was going on. If the people had been eliminated then all of Burnell's mercenaries would be occupying the colony. He had only seen a handful and yet the shuttles suggested many more. There had to be another explanation than mass murder. "I haven't checked the bunker or tunnels, is there another facility that could house that many people?" He half said it to himself, almost rhetorically.

James volunteered a response. "You mean apart from the U.S. base? Not that I know of."

"Well...we'll have to find them...and, and work out how to free them." It sounded glib even to his own ears. If they weren't in the colony, it might be wishful thinking. He couldn't drive all over Mars trying to find the victims of this mass abduction. But when Kelly stated the obvious, he wondered whether his brain was atrophying.

"What was that?" He asked, not because he hadn't heard but because his introspection had made his mind go blank and all he could think about was Chloe gripping his arm.

"I said, why don't we try the bunker first? Then, if they're not there we could follow their tracks. On Mars the tracks become roads, with enough use."

He nodded vaguely. "You should finish your lunch...We'll talk about how we should do this."

By the time Cal had put together a passable toasted sandwich, James and Kelly were drinking tea.

"Do you mind if I give thanks?" sought James. "We have been sort of praying for someone to come when you turned up." Cal encouraged him to go ahead, although he didn't feel like an emissary from God, more like a last resort from the entreaties of ASA. James said his prayer and then enquired about Cal's faith journey.

"Let's say I've become more aware that if you have a parachute you should use it."

"What?" Kelly's quizzical expression displayed how haphazard and disparate his utterance was to her.

"You could say I've been claiming Christ but not living Christ. Something to do with pride."

"It's one of those lessons we all have to learn," agreed James sombrely.

Chapter 10

An hour later, three forms scampered between buildings, snuck along corridors and crept up to a small freight elevator.

"So...you're saying this is the only way to check out the bunker without being seen?"

"If they're being held in the bunker, they'll have guards on all three entries. This is like those old-fashioned dumb waiters. The theory was that if there's a cosmic storm or something similar a few suited people could come up and load it with extra provisions as needed."

"So you'll just push the button and lower me down?" Cal was trying to sound matter of fact.

"Not so simple," chimed in Kelly. "They'll hear the motor. We'll have to use the manual winch, lower you silently...you take a peek through the transparent Perspex and thick mesh grill...if they're there you'll see them."

James' went on from there. "We'll only give you fifteen seconds and then wind you up again."

It sounded risky, but he had to admit that was more or less true of most of his contracts. He fended off Kelly's offer to go down because she was the lightest. He argued it was his job; if anyone was caught it should be him. James detached a large crank handle from inside the lift cage. When Cal had crawled onto the floor of the boxlike cage, James started lowering it. Thankfully it had double reduction gears which required several turns for the small elevator to move slowly down. Most of James' effort was applied in restricting the handle from turning too quickly.

The drop was considerably greater than Cal had expected and the soft bump when striking the bottom was greeted with a relieved exhalation. The well-lit bunker revealed a crowd of subdued prisoners sitting on row upon row of stretcher beds. They were being called, one group at a time to get bowls of some liquid sustenance ladled out of huge pots. The smell suggested a variety of chicken broth.

The lengthy descent had answered his question concerning the whereabouts of the community, and it had only taken a few brief seconds. He placed his hand through the top mesh and wiggled the wire, gaining a greasy hand for his troubles. The wire became taut and the small freight elevator moved slowly up. Gradually, bit by bit the container was raised up the shaft. Progress was slow. Cal became concerned when the elevator came to a halt. After about thirty seconds he started looking for a way to exit the cage through its roof and try and scale the wire. There was no way. It wasn't designed for people so there was no emergency exit. So he waited.

After a few minutes, Cal was fretting. He was stuck in a cage, in a shaft, in a Mars Colony building and he was helpless. When he was considering surrender by shouting out to those below, the lift unexpectedly shuddered and resumed its laboured progress. He was greatly relieved to see both James and Kelly turning the handle with grim determination. He reduced some of the load by pulling on the ledge and in little time he was stumbling out.

"What happened?" he whispered as the couple both tried to reclaim their breath.

"We...were interrupted by...by a small patrol entering the building," answered James, still struggling for breath.

"We sat...we sat on the floor...out of sight...till they were gone," contributed Kelly.

The three of them snuck back to the green houses and Cal shared how all the colonists were being detained in the bunker. The purpose wasn't clear to him. He reported that they were being fed and had bedding so there was no real immediate crisis. The quandary now was, what to do. The armed militia were no mean force and confronting them head on was not to be recommended. Despite the contention by James that a full on attack would be the last thing they would be expecting, Cal re-joined that it would also be 'the last thing we did'.

***

'Cramped was an understatement' thought Cal as he tried to get comfortable lying beneath the drainage water treatment vat that had become the hiding place of choice for the couple. It had been such a long time since he'd had a proper sleep that rest became an essential element before any successful opposition campaign could be contemplated. The sponge mats taken from some of the walkways provided some give but sleep was a reluctant companion. James and Kelly whispered prayers of petition for the captives and Cal felt obligated to join in. When James pronounced the ascendency and sovereignty of God, the young IT analyst became more absorbed in the reality of the One who was in control and who did work events out for the ultimate good. His prayers became more sincere and more real. "Father..." he prayed. "Even though we don't feel like it or are not inclined to want good for Haslet Burnell, we pray that your mercy and your grace will somehow change him. Help us to care for him as you have commanded we treat our enemies." There was a moment's silence as all three pondered over the substance of what he had said. Then amens were breathed. In his head Cal pled, "Keep changing me Lord...I have a long, long way to go."

Sleep didn't miraculously descend on them after their supplications but Cal experienced a quiet rest. Pleasant meditations of his sister's devotional urgings, of his parent's persuasive example of faith and of Chloe's inner joy making her eyes sparkle as she talked with him, were comforting and warming. Drowsiness did morph into lapses of insentient dozing. The wheezing and snorting of exhausted bodies thankfully went unheard as no one came within earshot of the three vestiges of resistance.

Patronising the same small eatery, breakfast was hastily eaten as one grand plan after another was reviewed and discarded. James said what the others conceded was the problem, they didn't know what Burnell was hoping to achieve by his provocative takeover. Surely he knew that the U.S. or the U.N. would contest his annexation of Mars as his personal domain. What could he hope to achieve? Unable to agree on the magnate's motivation, a plan did evolve out of their toing and froing. Cal and James were going to attempt to re-establish contact with Earth, making repairs using some parts and equipment from the storage module. Kelly was assigned the task of keeping vigil from a distance to let them know if any of the mercenaries were nearby.

What started out as a 'good idea', turned into a frustrating and tedious task. Cal found he had to construct from rudimentary parts an LC oscillator strong enough to form part of the transmitter. Amplifiers, modulators and the appropriate input devices were scrounged from the store. An audio radio receiver was found, almost intact and connected in tandem to the system. All three spent some time carting the parts to a small maintenance space below the colony's main communication dish. The strategy was to connect to the dish for both transmission and receiving of signals. A couple of Mars' days were occupied with the operation.

Cal was in the last stages of connecting the final components and testing their custom built radio when Kelly drew their attention to a spacecraft coming into land at the large terminal. It was one of Interspace's shuttles. Then came another. It dawned on the three, then, how critical it would be to get to the landing zone first and warn them of the situation. But it was already too late. Vehicles were, at that instant, moving toward the landing pads.

Kelly was first to speak. Her dismay trembled through her voice. "What are we going to do?"

"Watch," replied Cal. "Nothing more we can do."

"Is that...Is that Gardiner Talbot himself?" James sounded in awe. For a brief moment the man's head was clearly visible in the polycarbonate dome of his space suit.

"Looked like it," remarked Cal, but he was more fixated on those following behind. The dark hair, visible through the clear helmet, helped identify the girl who struck chords of emotion within him. A suited companion had an arm around her as they walked to the transport. The closeness had him clenching his jaw. She had said nothing about her relationships, and he hadn't asked. He felt foolish.

One by one as crew members exited, they were escorted to waiting vehicles and driven to the main entry air lock. "This complicates matters," observed James.

"Why?" Kelly looked up at her husband.

"If ever the reason was ransom...now he has a prize that could score him billions."

Cal shook his head. "Doesn't make sense to me. No matter how you look at it...if Burnell commits a crime like that he has doomed himself to running the rest of his life. I think he's smarter than that."

"What then?" The horticultural scientist eyed Cal.

"I don't know...What does he think he can get away with? That's the question."

When they had established that all the newcomers had been put in with the others several possible schemes were thrashed out. Each successive idea seemed more farfetched than the previous one. And they had started with the wild idea of flooding the bunker with ether. When it was apparent they weren't getting anywhere, their main focus reverted to communicating with Earth and giving all the details of the coup.

Hardly, had they resumed working on the radio transmitter when transport vehicles started ferrying colonists away from Mars Colony. From their high position most of the northern, main entry side was visible. And they looked down on much of the inner domes.

"Where would they be going?" James posed the question.

"I guess we'll have to do what Kelly suggested before...follow their tracks."

"And then what?" It was Kelly this time.

Cal shrugged. "At least we'll know where they are. It will give us an opportunity to work something out."

Several more trips of the sealed transports were made before they ceased.

"That must be all of them," concluded James. He studied the other two. "Four transports and each can carry about twenty people...I estimate they made about seven trips...There can't be anyone left."

At that very moment they watched as Talbot was led from the bunker. He looked harassed. He was shaking his head and waving his arms, and clearly suffering emotional stress.

"Whatever we do we had better do it quickly," said Cal as he clenched his jaws. "Talbot looks like he's ready to make any concession he can."

"So what do we do...?" Kelly was keen to act as well.

"I'm going to use the traveller I came in and find out where the hostages are. It can't be too far. Then I'll come back and we'll do something drastic."

"Like what?" James looked tense.

"I'd rather not say till I know we can keep the others safe." He took a deep breath and gazed up. "Can you two finish up with the connections? We need communication with Earth."

"Sure..." they almost said in unison.

Cal patted them both on the back. "I'm going then. I shouldn't be too long." He strode from the maintenance area and clambered down the ladder. Then, more carefully, he worked his way back to the CTSS building. Hastily, he put his suit on and exited via the airlock. The distance to the traveller was made over a number of short dashes from one boulder to the next. Inside the vehicle he switched to the secondary life support supply to preserve his mobile one and warily drove away to the east, at right angles to the direction the transports had gone. Because it was daylight, he couldn't afford to trace the tracks within view of the complex of domes.

For several minutes he drove with the crater obscuring his progress away from the Mars Colony. Then he swung left and headed, what he hoped was parallel to the direction the transports had gone. For most of the journey he was going southwest. He crossed several gullies which were like ancient wadis. When he turned onto a westerly course, he became watchful of tracks, vehicles and the possibility of being spotted from the distant but more elevated base.

He came across an old route to a deposit of rare metals. The old worn tracks, made by multiple vehicles passing, veered left soon after he cleared the debris of the familiar twin craters. Cal mulled over his strategy. He would be driving for an unknown duration to an unknown destination and then he had to make sure he didn't blunder into a hostile reception. On top of all that he would have to invent a plan to rescue five hundred people. The farther he went the less he liked his initial tendril of an idea.

When he had gone on dodging rocks and negotiating gullies for twenty minutes, he began to become anxious. The twin craters were receding behind him. He swung back to the south and ploughed through deeper sand drifts as he gained height on a ridge of dunes. Cresting the last ridge, he saw four interconnected inflated habitats. The regular clear panels showed that the captives had been transferred there. Even with, what appeared to be, a mobile air treatment plant the arrangement was strictly temporary—maybe three days at most. He saw provision for the necessities of life in the experimental habitats but the air would eventually foul. It wasn't made for more than twenty inhabitants per module, he guessed.

Well, now he knew. Cal didn't see any guards. It would not have been necessary since no one could survive the Martian atmosphere without a protective suit. He turned the traveller around and followed the more amenable, recent, tracks back, before deviating to his hidden position. Taking into account what he hoped to do, he risked driving right up to the vehicle bay next to CTSS. Withdrawing a charging lead from a recess, he plugged the traveller in.

***

As he arrived at their nook under the communication dish, the Schwartz's had completed the connections and were preparing to make a test broadcast. Cal cut them off breathlessly as they were explaining what message they hoped to send. "I've got to go straight away...If we want to have any chance of rescuing those hostages, I need to go to the water mine and bring one of the tankers back...you know...the ones that electrolyse water for oxygen and make fuel. They're being kept in inflatable habitats...I guess as a sort of ransom...to make Talbot bend to their demands."

The flood of information was too much for James and Kelly and they had Cal spell out what he hoped to do. He explained that he had been formulating the plan on his way back and it was the only way he saw that they could destroy any leverage that Burnell had. He went into great detail to describe what each of them had to do. How time was critical because the disused mine was such a long way away. To make the scheme work, each of them were putting themselves in jeopardy and James recommended that they have a brief prayer before their exploits began.

Cal readied himself, collecting two more fully charged life support packs to take on the traveller. "You know it's over a thousand k and there's no guarantee that the truck will still work after a couple of years." James was solemn as he delivered his assessment.

"I know...but I'm an engineer...making things work is supposed to be what I do."

"If you can't get the tanker working you won't have enough oxygen to get back here." It was not clear if he was saying it to inform Cal or for Kelly's sake; so she knew what the hazards were—that he was imperilling his life. Kelly gave him a hug and he entered the airlock.

The traveller was all charged and he again used the supplementary oxygen instead of that attached to his suit. A casual wave to the couple behind didn't represent the feeling of isolation he experienced in saying goodbye to a pair who accepted his foibles and were encouragers to the last. He left them with dangerous tasks of obstructing Burnell's plans with strategic vandalism and using the radio transmitters. Cal had also suggested, if they had a chance, of making the entry points require manual access from internal fixtures only, but have the CTSS accessible through his computer code. That way he would still have emergency entry if necessary.

The trek was to a location on the slowly descending plains where the Martian northern polar cap drained and refroze underground. Cal battled fatigue and the rough terrain as he tried to repulse the doubts that assaulted him. If the storage tanks had been emptied, if the trucks were out of order, if he had to retrieve water himself and the equipment didn't work; all these things could conspire to end his quest in tragedy for him, but worse still, for the hostages.

***

While Cal drove farther away and fought to stay awake, back at the colony Kelly snuck silently into the charging hall where all the transports and electric vehicles were being recharged. It was the depth of the night and the few patrols rostered were lax. To their mind there was no opposition on the planet. Kelly moved as a shadow. Deftly, at each machine she stopped at, she removed the motor controller. The small box with a sophisticated microprocessor was essential for governing the distribution of power to the engine. She had already collected all the spares from stores and hidden them. Only once, when she was part way through extracting the vital component, did she have to freeze and try and merge with the vehicle. A pair of guards had wandered past and were grumbling about the futility of patrols. Her completion of the job and withdrawal with the vital components went without any further hindrances. A plastic sack of the controllers was then buried in one of the garden beds.

James had an even more daring and dangerous task. He was required to get word to Talbot not to negotiate with Burnell because help was at hand. His approach was not original. He scouted the kitchen area on the hunch that some of the normal kitchen staff were doing the catering for the invaders. His guess proved correct. A disinterested guard sat in the dining section making the most of his cushy assignment. Baked goods and an oversized mug of coffee on the table before him were fringe benefits of his job. His lack of attention allowed James to sneak in through a rear door and quietly cajole a chef to secrete a note in Talbot's food instructing him not to cave in as a rescue was in progress.

Getting away from the chef was another matter. The man constrained his departure telling him of the threats against community members and the limited food and water that had been supplied to the inflated habitats. He worried about his friends and suggested that two days was the deadline given by Burnell. At that news, James insisted he had to go. The knowledge that Cal would be gone at least two days concerned him greatly. His return to the satellite dish was complicated by an influx of mercenaries for an early breakfast. In desperation, he wore a kitchen apprentice's spare outfit and walked past the line of men out through the food storage area.

Reunited, the older couple shared stories and James outlined his unease about the limited timeline. Could all those people survive more than two days? By James' calculations three days was possible. Kelly recommended that they make backup plans to take a vehicle with water and food. They could extend the duration the habitats would be viable for another couple days.

***

Cal forced himself to keep pressing on. The Mars topographical map on the screen revealed that he was converging on a long running gully two to three kilometres across in places. He would have followed its course because of its relatively uncluttered ground but unfortunately it veered to the east when he needed a slight westerly course. He crossed at a widening shallow basin and drove on across encountering increasingly rocky and undulating plains.

The constant annoying beeping in his ear aggravated him as he pushed the traveller as close to its maximum long-range performance parameters as he dared. The doubling of the alarm finally penetrated and he switched his air supply to a second life support pack. He sipped from a supply of water inside his suit and shook his head to ward off the constricting weight of weariness. He had begun his expedition at around fifty-five degrees north, usually assigned positive fifty-five degrees, and according to the on-board computer—which relied on a Mars positioning satellite still in operation—he was now at positive sixty-five degrees. At a rough estimate that was five hundred and fifty kilometres he had covered.

Cal had endured the long, stark, clear night wending his way at a cautiously reduced speed. He had seen the odd shaped Phobos twice skimming across the starry dome. He was strangely intrigued that his rocket boosters were passing by three times a day. His secret fear that his journey would be a futile exercise, if the tankers were not full as reported or out of commission, dogged him relentlessly. The problem was not so much in his ability to repair them but the valuable time lost if that was a requirement.

Now, as he looked around, some of the craters were rimmed with ice, the sun was even lower on the horizon and he needed to maximise the tilt on the solar panels to supplement his electrical storage. The barren brown, dun and pasty oranges contrasted with the vivid white patches. The reflected brilliance was a relief from the monotony of earthy colours.

With plenty of time to think as he drove, Cal wondered what a settled firm relationship would be like. Could Chloe ever be that person who completes him? He shuddered at the thought of being under Gardiner Talbot's scrutiny, married to his daughter. Not only was he high profile but the man would haunt him as his religious conscience. Why did he speculate? He had seen that Chloe had moved on already. Or had she been in an existing relationship and had merely flirted with him? He scowled at himself. He was caught up portraying her as disingenuous when he was the one exposed as hypocritical. What had Talbot called him? A people pleaser...weightless? He couldn't deny the hurt he felt, but if he was honest, he had snubbed Chloe in a flurry of self-pity and bitterness at her father's summation of his character.

His mulling caused him to open his digital Bible. The allusion of 'a double minded man' depicted by James caused him to get an audio rendition of the book. Chapter one played in a closed loop as he interrogated himself. Was he double minded because he doubted? Was he blown around like something insubstantial? He needed wisdom. Had he ever asked? Self-possessed, self-reliant, self-centred; Cal thought of all the words that described him. "Lord give me wisdom." He listened and then prayed. "Don't let me forget what I'm like...Your word is like a mirror."

He cycled through the second chapter and the weight of the words reinforced what Talbot had suggested...what good was his faith if it made no difference in his life. James contended that faith was in fact a change in behaviour, and when faith was lived out it changed from a dead faith to a living faith, a faith that made a difference.

His stomach twisted as the third chapter instructed him. It was as if God was saying 'this is how you live, how you show your faith, by controlling your tongue and being humble'. All the unfortunate things he had said reverberated in his mind. And it wasn't only what he said but what he hadn't said that contributed to his faithlessness. Cal continued to soak in James' practical guidelines to Christian living as he coursed his way across the dusty, bumpy surface. He quietly pledged to himself that he would show the qualities of following Jesus. He would develop patience and he would become more prayerful. That verse of James would become his maxim—draw near to God and He will draw near to you.

Chapter 11|

Haslet Burnell was furious. "What do you mean all the transports are missing the same part...what part?"

"The power controllers, Mr Burnley."

"Well, what about the stores...they'd have spare parts?"

"They're all gone." His lieutenant was direct. Things were going from bad to worse in this misbegotten scheme of his boss.

"You need to find out who's working against us. Who did we miss in the round up?"

"I already have men looking. Sir...maybe we should cut our losses...get out of here before people get hurt or we're trapped ourselves."

"Losing your nerve Loxton?" Burnell shook his head. "No...Talbot is a pacifist. No gumption...he'll fold the moment he thinks his people are in danger."

"But they are in danger! We can't get them back without transports."

"Once we've got his signature...we'll tell him his own people have stranded their colleagues...it'll be his problem."

"Sir, this was meant to be a bluff. Now five hundred people will die if we can't get them back here in a couple of days."

"As I said...not our fault. We were going to bring them back from a trial of our temporary habitats...but someone sabotaged all the vehicles...His people." He seemed quite pleased with his rationalisation. "Now get going. Find the perpetrators and fix those vehicles."

Loxton turned, angry at himself for becoming involved with a crazy man. Did he think the document would have any legal standing considering the signature was obtained under duress? Burnell went to the residential enclave where Talbot was being held. He had with him a series of legal documents transferring ownership of the space station to Burnell Space Industries. Loxton and Gallagher had already 'witnessed the signing'. He was sure the CEO of Interspace would give in to the pressure quickly, then armed with his legal document he could take possession of, what was really, a wonder of modern technology.

Talbot had been bemused by his detention and separation from his daughter and his crew. The confusion was enhanced by the absence of the colonists, many of whom were in his employ. It wasn't until a note under his meat and vegetable meal told him of rescue efforts and to remain resolute, and that they knew a deal would be offered him; that coercion and intimidation might be applied. Talbot saw a glimmer of hope. He would be ready.

When Burnell walked in and addressed Talbot his words were quiet and conciliatory. "All you need to do is sign this document handing over ownership of the space station to me and you'll save five hundred lives."

"You're bluffing. You wouldn't dare threaten the whole colony. You'd be hounded to your grave."

"I don't think you understand. We have moved all the inhabitants to temporary inflated habitats some distance away. They're waiting for you to sign this so they can be retrieved. The habitats have limited air and water. Every hour you wait will reduce their chances of survival."

"I can't believe you want to risk so many lives for a possession, for money."

"You better believe it, otherwise you'll be remembered for the same thing."

The comment struck a chord with Talbot. He grimaced. What if the note was mistaken? What if the rescue failed?

Burnell grunted, "I'll let you think about it a bit longer...but you better hurry. We can't remove them all at once." He stomped out. "Keep an eye out for intruders," he commanded the guard. "They may try release him."

"Who?" The man seemed bewildered.

"Whoever is messing with us," yelled Burnell, before he clasped his forehead in realisation that the cold, unruffled, belligerent demeanour he had tried to convey would be shattered by his outburst.

For the next few hours he was wringing his hands and demanding constant updates on the search for those trying to foil his plans. There was also no news on the whereabouts of the missing controllers. His tension and fury grew together in concert as he cursed the incompetence of his men. Deaths had not been his intention. If tragedy occurred, and it appeared more and more likely that it would, he would be held accountable. Unintentional mass manslaughter would possibly be the best verdict he could hope for.

Burnell went into Talbot again. "You are making it difficult. If people die it will be on your head."

Talbot nodded. He seemed calmer. His prayers had consoled him and given him a line of action coherent with wisdom and compassion. "I'm willing to negotiate."

"About time," hissed the other. A sneer spread across his face. He thrust the papers on the table and placed a pen on them.

"I said negotiate...not sign. I'm a man of my word. I'll sign when you bring the people back to the base."

"You're joking...You expect me to return everyone first...You'll just stir up resistance...No chance...sign first or your friends are dead."

"What about if I sign a document promising to sign if the people are returned." For a brief second Burnell thought it a possibility. Then he gave a guttural laugh. "Oh, you'd like that wouldn't you. That would be tantamount to me admitting holding you to ransom." He snarled, "Just sign the thing and we'll get this over with."

"Return the people first. I mean, I could sign and then you might just leave."

"Have it your way." Burnell stormed from the room.

***

Later, he was haranguing the hired mercenaries about their lack of progress in finding the missing parts and complaining about the irritant remnant residents fouling everything up, when Loxton came in and said that some of the men were talking about getting away before anything else went wrong. The magnate was fuming.

"They know their payment is on completion of the contract?"

"Yes sir...they still want to go."

His boss considered this new development. He was clever enough to realise that unwilling employees were not useful; in fact, he was convinced they'd be an impediment.

"Tell one of the pilots to return those who don't want to fulfil their contract on one ship. Take them back to Earth docking station and take a lander to Earth. Tell the ones who remain they'll get the deserters' share."

Loxton signalled compliance and went off.

The agitated would-be usurper strode once again to where Talbot was being held in confinement. "Are you going to sign? They're running out of time."

"Have you brought any back?"

"Well, I would like to but some of your people have disabled all our vehicles ...so they're stuck there."

There was a look of consternation from Talbot. "So...you get me to sign...and then what?"

"Your people have done this!" shouted the other. "Everyone would've been safe if they hadn't meddled."

"So, what are you going to do?"

"You're going to tell whoever has done this to return the power controllers, otherwise a lot of people will die."

"How do I know who did this...or...or where they are?"

***

All during the daylight hours James and Kelly hid under the water treatment vat. A number of times their whispered conversations were silenced by patrols tromping up and down the greenhouse paths. At nightfall, they both scampered to the maintenance space underneath the communication dish. The radio hadn't been constantly monitored and without recording equipment there was no way of knowing whether their calls for assistance had been heard.

James again called the Earth stations. They were approaching their nearest conjunction so the delay was little more than four minutes. This time they would wait and find out what was happening.

"We have to do something about the hostages," averred Kelly. "They won't have much more than a day or so."

"What do you suggest?" James was staring at the radio trying to figure if something was not connected correctly.

"We could steal a transport."

James turned his head with interest. "Go on."

"Take some compressed air tanks...I know...that portable air recycling unit...the one that has the CO2 scrubber. Do you know where that is?"

"The mine stores, I think." James paused for thought. "If we replace a controller, drive a transport out of the airlock and skirt the settlement to the mine store airlock to collect the scrubber and any air tanks we can find...and don't get caught, it'll be a miracle."

Kelly hugged him. "When do we start?"

"Now. We can't wait around and hope they answer our call."

***

It was late on the second day of travel, though only about thirty hours since he started that the bleary-eyed driver of the traveller pulled into the disused water mining site. Like most of the abandoned Mars facilities little degradation had occurred. Small amounts of dust had accumulated in clumps along walls of structures but the charged particles had a way of keeping the windows relatively clean.

Cal stumbled out of the vehicle after transferring his breathing to his mobile supply. He walked stiffly, cramped muscles slowly freeing his stilted steps. The unwieldy life support pack was easily manageable in the point four g Martian gravity. He made his way to the small airlock which was alongside the vault-like doors of the tanker bay. He cleared the dust before opening the control panel. All was well as the pressurised room was evacuated and he stepped in. Upon reading the temperature of the air once it had pressurised, he kept his gear on. It was frigid. At these latitudes the temperature seldom rose above minus twenty degrees Celsius and was often far colder. No energy had been diverted from the battery banks to heating the small rooms or the vast chambers.

His next task was to check whether the information about the tankers was right. The corridor outside the airlock was adjacent to the tanker bay. He entered and was pleased to see the reported three tankers parked together. It was gratifying to see cables still connecting to the huge battery arrays coming from the mine's solar panel fed grid. He clambered onto the rear of the closest tanker. The huge box-like load had an airtight seal on top. It opened in response to the switch and, scaling the ladder, Cal looked inside. It was full. It was not liquid water but well-packed stacks of geometrically precise big ice cubes. No energy was wasted melting ice and pumping it into conventional tankers. For one thing it would expand on refreezing and keeping it warm was also inefficient. Instead, the ice had been hot wire sliced by robotic machines and packed into the trucks.

He resealed the main load, relieved that he wouldn't need to spend valuable time loading. He had to examine the electrolytic supply. Climbing the ladder on the side of a much narrower cuboid tank next to the cab module, he found that too was filled with the blocks of ice. From there he went into the cabin. The charge level was on max. These were sealed units so he would be able to remove his suit while driving. The electric motors generated sufficient heat that would be channelled through a heat exchange and fanned in to warm the sealed space.

Cal reminded himself of all the details he had read about the tankers. The electrolyte water could be heated by energy from the PV cells on the top of the truck and, using the excess current, water could be electrolysed into its component parts. The hydrogen would be stored and the oxygen would supplement the cabin supply. Any remaining voltage would be directed into the batteries.

Considering the length of the return journey, the period of night and the load of ice, Cal felt a compulsion to bolster the battery capacity. He spent a frantic hour removing the slabs of metal hydride batteries from the adjacent truck and rigging a frame on the back of the tanker to create a secondary power supply. A tired examination of the work satisfied him. He was ready to go. And after saying a short prayer, a number of other tasks became priorities. A five minute wait was required as the special tanker airlock was evacuated and Cal drove in the traveller. Pressurising and bringing it into the main bay, he organised a tow cable to pull it behind the tanker. Then he collapsed on the seat of the tanker and slept.

***

To begin with, he gyrated and thrashed when his alarm sounded its annoying beeps over and over. Reluctantly he roused and drank some water. Two hours of exhausted sleep was not enough but he couldn't afford to wait any longer. The reality of his circumstances had seeped into his thinking and he had to move.

The return journey was more hazardous. Cal drove too fast and careered down slopes and across dry swales to ensure his ascent wasn't halted by lack of momentum. He soon had shed his protective clothing in the warmth of the cabin. The fear that he would be too late impelled him to push the sturdy vehicle close to its limits. His arms ached and his head throbbed as he swung the steering of the lumbering tanker and sent the trailing traveller swinging wide.

The tanker's lights allowed for faster night driving, but he was conscious of the added drain on the batteries. When, with still four hundred kilometres to go, the electric motor began to grind to a stop, Cal flicked his fabricated auxiliary switch. Nothing happened. He repeated the move and when still nothing connected, he snapped it back and forth frenetically. Then he groaned. No activity from the motor and still all that way to go. He had the traveller but that would be a total farce, coming back with nothing achieved and no way to help the hostages.

Admitting to the inevitable, he donned his spacesuit, depressurised and went to check the attached wall of batteries. It took only a few seconds to see that his wild driving had wrenched the main cable out of its socket. He rethreaded it to give it some slack near the battery and went back in the cab. Success—the switch connected to the battery immediately and he recommenced his rescue rush.

By the time the inflated habitats appeared in the distance, Cal had been away almost three full Martian days. He drove the last kilometre furiously, ready to install the water electrolysis unit. As he came near, to his surprise, the hostages were walking and sitting calmly. He prepared himself once more for the tenuous atmosphere and got out of the vehicle. The airlock took longer than most because of the low rate compression pumps in use and when he eventually opened the pressure hatch several colonists came up to him. They asked when the rescue transport was coming.

When he declared that they should have almost exhausted their air supply but it still seemed normal, he heard the explanation. The Schwartz's had brought a chemical CO2 scrubber and compressed oxygen cylinders and then told them the rescue was at hand. Cal was speechless. James and Kelly had gained extra days for them with little fuss. Well, now the supply was secure for an extended period if need be.

He had been speaking with one of the CTSS employees when Baz, Aldo and Viktor came and he caught up on what had happened to them. They told him they had checked out the key satellites and found nothing amiss so they landed and were promptly captured and taken to the bunker.

Cal sat down at one of the tables and quietly bemoaned the fact that he had frittered away three days procuring a solution that wasn't as urgently required as he had thought. He should have conferred with the local experts—the Schwartz's—rather than taking a dominant, in-charge, role. This pride thing of his was clearly going to take some taming.

His next thought was of the newer captives. "Where are Talbot's crew? I haven't seen any of them."

"Some of them are here... and some they took them further," said Viktor in his distinctive Russian tainted English.

"Do you know where?"

"I'll get the Interspace pilot who was with them," volunteered Baz. "He was talking about ransom and threats...I don't know the whole story." The stocky engineer walked off.

Aldo spoke then. He was deliberate and concise. "Rumour is...Talbot's daughter was taken."

Five of the shuttle crew came back with Baz. From the insignia on his uniform, Cal decide the lead man was their ranking officer. He introduced himself as Captain Vardy. He told of four members of the party being taken to what he believed was the old U.S. base. Apparently, Chloe Talbot was the prize but the others were also taken as insurance to guarantee their escape.

"That's a long way. What makes you think that's where they've gone?"

"We heard them say that U.S. should be far enough...and they headed in that direction."

"It sounds like Burnell has a lot to answer for," growled Cal.

"That's the thing," replied Vardy. "I don't think Burnell knows. I think these mercenaries have taken things into their own hands. I mean, the last thing he said before we were transported was...'make sure nobody gets hurt'."

Cal was now at a loss. By his calculations the U.S. base was about two hundred kilometres away. He would have to recharge batteries and life support suits to give himself some safety margin. That meant a return to Mars Colony undetected, resupply, and then race to the U.S. base. And he was so fatigued he could hardly keep his eyes open. It was already getting dark again and he didn't want to linger. He told his work mates that he believed radio messages had been sent so help shouldn't be too far off. The added danger confronting him was the heightened state of alert the mercenaries would be in having realised opposition factions were disabling vehicles and even acquiring one for their own use.

***

When Cal dragged himself into the greenhouse in the murky gloom of an occasional LED and found no one, he wasn't too worried. He knew James and Kelly were experts in hiding. What did distress him was his inability to locate any patrols. He'd rather be watching them than be watched by them. It made him excessively cautious. By the time he gained access to the small hideaway under the communication dish he was ready to drop. But there was no one there. He couldn't think clearly. Bunker, kitchen, vehicle bay, he didn't know where to start looking. And in his present condition he was just as likely to stagger right into a patrol. Rest is what he needed. A couple of hours would do him a world of good. He curled up on a mat near the radio. 'This will do' was his last conscious thought.

***

Sweat soaked his tee shirt and Cal shivered from the remembered wakening revelation. The traumas of the past weeks had melded in a shocking portrayal of who he was. The memory of floating in a cold water tank—he had been weightless, hiding, attempting to escape any confrontation with the reality he faced. And what had transpired? He had forgotten the reality, forgotten his purpose and it was only the words of his sister who had redirected his steps. What an allegory of his existence! The pretence of his life had been one of floating in a tank of self-importance, of busyness and of intellectualism and hiding from the reality of eternal truth, eternal consequences and eternal hope. He had no gravity. He had been weightless.

Coming to terms with the desolation of still being alone proved problematic. He grasped for a prayer; he needed the assurance of God's presence. Hayley had shared with him that the cries of pain in Psalms had been a solace to her. In her darkest, most self-destructive moods she found an ally, an example in David. He opened his digital Bible. He opened to Psalm sixty and immediately recoiled at the harsh tone...

You have rejected us, God, and burst upon us;

you have been angry—now restore us!

You have shaken the land and torn it open;

mend its fractures, for it is quaking

Had he read further; he may have seen David's growing confidence in a faithful God. But because he was fragile and tired and desperate for comfort he turned to the next Psalm.

Hear my cry, O God;

listen to my prayer.

From the ends of the earth I call to you,

I call as my heart grows faint;

lead me to the rock that is higher than I.

For you have been my refuge,

a strong tower against the foe.

Cal bowed his head. He asked God to increase his faith. He harked back to the turmoil his emotions had been through and admitted, "Lord, everything happens for a purpose. Maybe this is your way of bringing me back."

It was the middle of the day, a day only slightly longer than that on Earth, and he was hungry. He reminded himself that there were many people waiting to be rescued and the remainder of Talbot's group needed to be found. Maybe he was the only one left in the base. If that was the case, he would first devote himself to bringing the colonists back to the base.

He descended the ladder and jogged toward the kitchen. Voices and the clatter of activity drew him to a halt. He peered around the corner. There was a crowd of colonists organising meals and rushing about. He stopped one and asked what had happened. He was told James and Kelly had been transferring people from the habitat to Mars Colony all morning. When he asked what had happened to Burnell and his mercenaries all he said was, "They left."

Cal waited in the transport bay as the next two loads of hostages came in. Fortuitously, two of the CTSS workers offered to take up ferrying the next trip and relieve James and Kelly. He confronted them with his enquiry. "What happened? Where did Burnell go?"

Before they could answer, a girl from Interspace personnel gave both a large water bottle each.

"Thanks Jilly," James responded. Kelly was passing on instructions to the new drivers. James looked at him. "Some of the mercenaries piked out when they became aware things were working against them. Disabling the transports was a great idea." Before he had a chance to continue, his wife pushed past and hugged Cal. "We were worried about you. You were gone for so long."

"It's a long way," he answered blandly.

"Anyway..." continued James, "...Burnell changed his plans and collected his remaining men, grabbed Talbot and left early last night. It was hard to see how many or who they took with them. We figured there was nothing to stop us bringing everyone back so we spent the night reinstalling the controllers and then driving two of the transporters on the return trip a couple of times."

Even as he spoke the two other transports lined up for the airlock. "What about the Interspace crew taken to the US base?"

"They weren't that far...they had gone to the original colony site...came back and all got taken as well."

Cal was confused. "Why did Vardy say the U.S. Base then?"

"It was probably a ruse. They didn't want anyone to know where the prize hostage was being kept."

"What? So they purposely misled him?" The misgivings he had were evident in the way he said it.

Kelly intervened. "What's important is...regardless of where they went. We saw both Talbots and their party escorted onto a Burnell shuttle and leave."

"Besides..." said James not willing to concede the point. "The U.S. base is too far for them to have made it back in that time."

Cal couldn't argue with that logic. "So where do you think they went?"

James was non-committal. "Who knows? Burnell Space Industries station, Moon Base...maybe they went back to Earth. Wherever, they're probably still in transit."

"Have you heard back from Earth?"

"They're sending one UN peacekeeping unit. It doesn't sound much but they'll have more weaponry than anything Burnell can muster. I don't think they've left yet...the wheels turn slowly."

Cal dropped his head. "How bad is it when we transport our wars from Earth to another planet?"

"It's not really a war," objected James.

"May as well be."

Aldo and Baz came up to him. "Victor is assembling a group of techies...Do you want to lend a hand?" Aldo seemed animated now that he was in familiar territory.

"What do you hope to do?"

"Reconnect all the communications...Seems like they went from place to place trashing anything that looked remotely like a transmitter or receiver."

Cal gritted his teeth and relented. "Sure. I mean I'd rather be after Burnell but since we have no idea where he's gone...and repairing communications was our brief...let's get to it."

His commitment to the task was questionable. Wires were repaired, circuit boards tested, tuners calibrated for frequencies and the paraphernalia of aerials and dishes, amplifiers, speakers and signal finders were all interlinked while he was in a semi engaged reflexive mode. Having completed two central communication systems in the admin centre, Cal left the nonessential units to some local technicians. He sauntered off to the CTSS complex, bumping into Kelly again. "I brought your traveller in for charging and the life support packs are being serviced," she gurgled jauntily. Cal considered how, for them, everything was back to normal, but for a few of the Interspace personnel enduring the impending uncertainties of captivity, still being held hostage by unscrupulous criminals and the threat to their safety, he imagined there would be only fear.

"Thanks," he returned glumly.

"You're worried about the hostages aren't you?"

"Burnell is not letting them go until he gets what he wants. I'm afraid it might end badly."

"You were close to the daughter weren't you...er Chloe?" Kelly's voice filled with compassion.

"Why do you say that?"

"Baz mentioned it to us...said you did work for them and Scanlon told him Mr Talbot made queries about your character...said he didn't want his daughter hurt."

Cal marvelled at the way news travelled. He snorted derisively. "Don't know what Scanlon told him but Talbot didn't think much of me."

"So...what are you going to do?" It was as if Kelly could sense his discontent.

"I'm going to find them...There's something wrong with this whole scene. Of all the places he could be, Mars would be the easiest to defend and the furthest from being apprehended. I can't imagine why he left."

"Would he go back to Earth? There might be countries who might give him sanctuary...you know, not alliance members."

Cal's head tilted back. His expression changed. "I'll see you later...I've got to go."

The sudden unpredictable end to the conversation had Kelly looking around. Had she missed something? Cal was single minded now, intent to get to the CTSS Mars office. Once inside he strode to the technical centre. Baz and Viktor were putting together the satellite feed relays that companies gained permits to access.

"Is everything connected?" Cal's greeting made Baz jump.

"You scared me...where did you come from?"

"Working in the Coms centre...Well, are you all set?"

"Near," grunted Viktor from behind a relay board.

"Haven't put together the computer handling multi spectral, short wave, infra-red and thermal infra-red mineral imaging yet. When that's..."

Cal cut him off. "That's the one I want. I'll work on that. Mind if I borrow your tools?" he asked Baz.

"Nuh, I trust you."

Cal had asked because he knew of a number of techies and engineers who were very precious about their equipment. His own were still on board the Dart since repairs had become secondary to reconnoitring the bases to find out what was going on. Aldo came in carrying hot dogs with mustard for Baz, Viktor and himself. "You want one?" he asked Cal as a matter of form.

"No thanks...I'll grab something later." He went over to the console and examined the inputs. Like almost all the others, input data cables and electric cables had been severed. It also had a processor smashed, suggesting, to him, that the significant communication capabilities of the computer and its microcircuitry was understood by whoever damaged it.

He studied the part reference number. "Do we have spare LXD 24446 circuit boards?" Cal asked of no one in particular.

"I'll check." Aldo was on the keyboard of a computer near the entry. His fingers caressed the keys. "Three in bin nineteen," he announced dully.

"Right." Cal went off walking to the back of the building where all the parts were stored.

On his way back he heard Aldo speak. "What's wrong with the golden boy?" Cal stopped.

"I think he's lovesick," Baz confided. "James said keep an eye on him because he's got it bad for Chloe Talbot."

"Wha...at?" The elongated sceptical enunciation from Aldo communicated his disbelief. "He hasn't got a chance...Wasn't there some guy with her when they deposited half the crew at the gulag?"

"Just don't say anything," advised Baz. "James said he might be fragile."

Cal hated being the subject of a gossip story. He hesitated, not willing to embarrass anyone by walking in while they were saying something personal about him.

"Chloe Talbot," echoed Aldo, "Can you believe it?"

Cal decided to drop a screwdriver and heard the expected shushing before walking heavily back into the room. Three sets of eyes followed him. He glanced up from the exposed processor innards and saw his colleagues' faces watching him.

"What?"

"Er...what was all the noise back there?" adlibbed Baz.

"Oh...dropped a screwdriver." He went back to replacing the new microcircuit.

***

When the unit was reassembled and tested Cal sat and downloaded the last cache of Mars' surface data, allowing the software to graft the images into a coherent global map. Why he had this feeling that satellite images would tell him something, he had no idea. The notion that Burnell and his accomplices had left the red planet bothered him intensely. At least looking at the images wouldn't hurt. And, in the unlikely event that he found them it would eradicate a lot of guesswork if not heartache and foreboding.

Meticulously, Cal examined the cratered surface evident in the vistas before him. Putting in the coordinates of the colony he viewed the domes, solar panel arrays and the landing pads and launch facility. With an orbit every hour each satellite contributed to the patchwork photography that enabled the computer to stitch together a complete global picture every two Martian days. From the details shown on the Mars Colony graphic he knew the images were recent. There were no BSI shuttles and a relatively new portion showed transports arriving.

Since all the bases were in the same general region the time signatures would indicate similar times within a few hours of each other. The original base looked deserted. He glanced at the old U.S. Base. It too showed no sign of shuttles. His shoulders slumped and he sighed.

"What's wrong?" probed Baz.

"Oh...I just had a hunch that Burnell went to the U.S. base...but nothing's there."

Viktor came over and looked. He placed his finger on the touch screen and caused the image to move further south east. He hovered over a clutter of rugged valleys and zoomed in on what looked like a giant footprint. Spreading his fingers even more he magnified a crater between the footprint and the valley.

"What are you doing Vik?" Cal was only half paying attention. The Ukrainian was pointing.

"There near the shadow of the crater."

Cal squinted to discern in the pixelated shot what he was indicating. "I can see ... yes, four shuttles...I sink the others are in shade." It was the first time Cal had heard his accent coming through so strongly.

"Why there?"

"Russian base...and before you ask how it is possible to have secret base that close to U.S. Base...The Americans knew all about it. They were working together and planning on sharing the planet."

"Why didn't they?" inserted Aldo.

"Private enterprise...The new tech companies did everything better and cheaper than the governments. That's why those bases were abandoned." Cal concluded the short history lesson with a logical extrapolation.

Viktor merely nodded his head.

Cal examined the picture closely. "I don't see any structures."

"It is all below ground. An entry cave with domes leading to tunnel system from the side of the crater down to the valley. It was a good idea...but very expensive."

"How do you know about it?" Baz was looking at him curiously.

"I have worked there." He said no more.

"Viktor, how can I surprise them...how can I get in there unnoticed?"

"They will see a rocket...even your Dart. You cannot...sneak onto a landing pad."

"I'm going to drive."

***

It wasn't as straight forward as Cal might have suggested. The considerable distance could only be traversed by initially towing the traveller behind a bigger transport that provided a sealed life support environment. When they were close enough, they transferred to the smaller, much faster vehicle which would allow for an approach to the entry Viktor had identified. The Ukrainian had told them that they could steal a transport from the Russian Base and Cal could make his way back to their transport. It suited Cal. He wanted to be low profile in this rescue attempt.
Chapter 12

The precipitous rim of the target crater was still ten kilometres ahead. A smaller crater was behind. Cal estimated that the bigger of the two was twenty kilometres across and about three times as big as the one behind. James, who had virtually demanded to accompany him and was standing alongside, spoke over the intercom. "Where to from here?"

"I guess down there." His arm went in the direction of the deep rift to their right. Victor knows." Even as he said it the big Ukrainian lumbered up the rise. "It is still a long way, Cal...we will be walking some of it. We should go if we want to conserve oxygen."

All three clambered back into the traveller. Viktor swung the vehicle toward the broad canyon which, on their right, was only a few hundred metres away. When Cal thought he was heading perilously close to the edge, Viktor veered left to drive parallel to the vertical drop-off. This was the reason the smaller buggy-like vehicle was necessary. About a kilometre along the ridge the slope of the canyon wall became less severe. A steep natural ramp approximately four hundred metres wide allowed access down to the intermediate floor of the valley. This fell away even further to a deep ravine that Viktor suggested had been a huge floodway in some long ago past.

They stopped at the top of the ramp and it was clear to Cal and James that Viktor intended to go down the corroding incline.

"We take the traveller down there we'll never get back up," complained Cal. The Ukrainian ignored him. He got out and went to the back of the traveller. The other two got out and followed. He removed what looked like an oversized electric awl and, finding a rocky outcrop, proceeded to bury the tough, narrow, diamond tipped bit its full length into the soil behind it. He then extracted the end of a carbon fibre cable wound on a reel under the chassis. He looped the end around the outcrop before attaching it to the bit close to the ground.

Cal watched as he engaged the driver on the reel into a geared link.

"It has a winch," exclaimed Cal.

"It has a winch," agreed Viktor drily.

"How long is the cable?" put in James, gazing down the long slope.

"Five hundred metres. It will not take us to the bottom but near enough." Then as an afterthought he added, "If the trolley in the tunnel is not working, we will have to come back. It's too far to walk to the other entrance."

Back in the traveller, Viktor engaged the winch on the highest gear. The traveller careered down the slope altering course, left and right with erratic jerks as obstacles were dodged. Rocks and ruts and rubble were successfully negotiated, often at the last second. The cable did little to retard their lurching rush down. Cal and James gripped on tenaciously convinced their driver had a death wish. About three quarter way down the tracks began to grip as the gears were used to restrict their speed. The vehicle had almost slowed to a crawl when a small jolt brought them to a stop. They had reached the end of the cable.

Piling out of the traveller, Cal gave Viktor a small punch on the shoulder. "You're an evil man Viktor Cherenkov, you've done that before."

His broad smile was visible in his helmet. "Many times, Calvin, many times."

"Where to now?" James was looking a bit shaken and not recovered enough to see the humour in the situation. Viktor again pointed. "A few hundred metres and we should see the tunnel."

"What are these trolleys you mentioned?"

"You will see."

They set off, cutting across the slope while gradually descending into the sharply contrasting shadow of the northern wall. It was the face of what looked more like a gigantic trench the farther they went. Trudging through the crumbly gravel and grit, little was said between the would-be rescuers. The rugged landscape might have drawn gasps of appreciation in different circumstances. Instead the gasps were from the strenuous wading through the calf deep regolith that contrived to slide them down the steep gradient.

Ahead the shadow deepened to undiluted black, a physical barrier to Cal's senses. Viktor turned his helmet light on to prevent being swallowed by the dark. The other two did likewise. In the distance the trench became a yawning abyss, falling away into a lightless chasm. However, Viktor turned to the embankment that had become a sheer cliff and led them straight into the black grotto ahead. Their lights allowed them to pick their way through the fragmented rocks onto an upward grade of solid rust stained rock. The solid footing was a relief after the sandy fluid aching legs had pushed against.

Within a few hundred metres the huge cave mouth had tapered to a tunnel. The steepening incline made them push harder but the low gravity enabled them to cope with the climb. Unexpectedly, as Cal raised his helmet light to peer ahead, a constructed metal partition came into view. To the right was a hatch entry.

"It can be that the fighters have found this tunnel. Then we will walk into a trap, maybe." It was as if Viktor's revisited past was affecting his speech.

"Is it likely they have found the tunnel?" James asked what Cal was thinking.

"The tunnel was for water mining in early days...then sealed off for future expansion. Likely? ...Who can know? It was a long way back."

Emerging from the airlock on the other side, they saw the promised trolley. It reminded Cal of a carnival train with seats in an open trailer except it was autonomous, having a simple lever speed regulator and a large switch to energise the on-board motor. Rails disappeared in the murk ahead.

When Cal checked his instruments for the environmental conditions a red bar ruled out taking off the helmet. The air was acceptable but the temperature was too extreme to expose their faces. To his engineering eyes, it looked like the shaft had been sealed with a polymer sprayed over the rock. The coating would ensure that the precious air wouldn't seep through any porous layers.

Viktor's satisfied grunt indicated all was well with the electrics. The hushed ride was courtesy of carbon fibre and polypropylene wheels on regolith and polymer three-D printed rails. Much of the structural fabrication on Mars relied on printing technology because the raw materials were so much lighter than metals.

It was surprising how long the ride was.

"If this was used for getting water, why did they seal it off?" James addressed their guide.

"They found ice in the crater...and before it was used up the large supply of water and shared technology of Mars Colony made the base...not good."

Cal reckoned he was searching for the word 'obsolete' but decided 'not good' was good enough.

The Ukrainian then spoke of the strange egalitarian mood of the Russian enclave, all scientists, all committed to advancing human endeavours unhindered by the steamroller of Russian bureaucracy. To him it was an escape from the propaganda of domination politics and a subversive agenda, wheedling into foreign computer networks, stealing data and inventing false data to leak. His great grandfather, his role model, who had been awarded a Nobel Prize, had always been a pacifist and would always recite his tenet, 'there is no blessing for war mongers' when arguing with his more nationalistic offspring.

"You know he's alluding to the Bible when he says that?" submitted Cal, sure for once that it was a clear-cut opportunity to say something.

"Yes, I think this is true..." Viktor continued to look at Cal. His body language, even evident in the space suit, hinted at mild surprise.

The transfer from the tunnel to a cavern, through another hatch, was done furtively. The sealed space was filled with insulated storage tanks. In a display of learning through mistakes, Cal noticed the water was kept in liquid state by heating elements inside the tanks. The story was that a small nuclear power plant had been set up to ensure they always had liquid water. This was a wasteful use of energy and some of the heat escaped the tanks and warmed the large space. On Mars Colony, water was kept as ice until needed and then melted and used. The set up ensured that once it was liquid inside the domed enclosure it remained liquid.

The helmets came off and were clipped on a hook on their sides. They snuck into the first of the complex of climate controlled, prefabricated modules that filled the gouged out hollow in the side of the crater. The conglomeration of geodesic buildings had clearly been added in an ad-hoc manner to meet the need for expanding available space. Each hexagonal structure had a possible three points of joining to adjacent modules. The haphazard links had created an unintentional whimsical maze of buildings.

"How did you ever find your way through this?" muttered James.

"It was not easy. There was a central corridor...joined domes...we keep the hatches open. The side corridors we closed. You get used to it." Viktor rubbed his grizzled bristles. "We must be careful...I think they will be in living zone, not science, food, energy or life support systems."

Cal held them up to reiterate what the plan was. They must be rigid in adhering to their roles. Again, he had to deflect their protests. He would be the diversion, the decoy, while James and Viktor freed the hostages. The plan was to meet up at the old U.S. base. He went through the factors that had to be confirmed.

"We need to be sure there is a working, pressurised electric-bus and disable any others. Find the five hostages and determine a clear route to the bus. We need to disable their shuttles so they are stranded here—I'll try and do that...it should shake them up a bit."

"Cal, don't take foolish risks. It's almost as bad as a vacuum out there. Get away as soon as you see us out on the crater surface."

"That's the general idea."

"They will be very angry," added Viktor to James' warning. "Get on the trolley and it will take them some time to get another out of storage. You should get away."

"Come on!" Cal slapped James on the shoulder. "Let's do this before you talk me out of it."

Instead of going through the main access route described by Viktor, they went via one side hatch after another. Some were storage modules for equipment, suits, replacement parts, some were laboratories and a couple were empty. Three large modules housed air treatment, water treatment and power storage. Next, was a very large dome with three electric buses and two smaller open rovers and past that the fuel synthesising depot. The sound of compressors revealed that production was in full operation.

James remarked, "Looks like the shuttles need refuelling."

"Let's find the hostages," urged Cal. "Where to from here?" His eyes fixed on Viktor.

A short hand signal was all that was needed. He went back to the storage modules and then entered a huge pantry section of the kitchen. It was mostly empty. Now each of them crouched in response to a gesture from the Ukrainian. It was compounded with a universal shushing sign and then a halt. He pointed the direction they should look through the slats in the entry door.

In the dining area, twenty to thirty mercenaries milled about. Food and drinks were being consumed, a card game had a small audience and another group were gathered about a large screen video game where violent fantasies became actualised point scoring. At the far end, near a viewing window of the landing pads, they saw Haslet Burnell and some of his senior cronies. The leaders were also eating and immersed in serious conversation.

Viktor drew their attention to the other end of the long common room. There was a sentry standing outside what must have been a private dining area at one time. Cal recalled that, in his outline of the base, Viktor had said that though egalitarian sentiments were often expressed, old habits of preferential treatment for management, officers and chief scientists had still existed. And that was where he saw Chloe, her dad, Melanie, the pilot and Chloe's attentive companion. "Can you handle that?" he whispered to the other two. They both nodded.

Suddenly, harking back to Talbot's estimation of him as a reckless, foolhardy adventurer, Cal declared, "I don't want you to mention me at all...Talbot already thinks I'm rash and a crazy footloose, this will only confirm it. Promise?"

"Cal, they'll want ..."

"Promise?" He was more adamant. James nodded reluctantly.

"Footloose?" murmured Viktor.

***

Wires were severed, in most of the vehicles. Two buses were left. Viktor removed a processor in one, the vehicle with the fullest charge they had commandeered, and then bade Cal farewell. James had immobilised the rovers and joined him.

"Godspeed," replied Cal, wanting to say something that wasn't trivial. Viktor angled his head, again mystified at the un-Dorner goodbye. James gave him a hug. "Don't get yourself killed."

Cal ignored the comment. "See you at the U.S. base. If I'm not there in a day, go without me."

"We're not gonna..."

Cal truncated his protest vigorously. "Think about it. You have important hostages to deliver to safety...you can always come back for me."

His friend looked at him forlornly. He knew adding a day or more before searching was virtually a death sentence. "Go...go on. You have to be ready for the diversion." They left with hesitant waves.

Cal move swiftly to the first bus—the only other one still working. He guided it slowly, almost noiselessly, into the transport airlock. Securing his suit for the sparse pressure outside, he rehearsed the steps in his mind. His prime aim was to remain undetected while all the preliminaries were set up. The compressor noise was too loud for his liking. Muscles tensed with nervous apprehension.

When finally the sealed room matched the external pressure, the vault-like door yielded to his impatience. The vehicle, not sealed by choice, was manoeuvred out of the airlock. Rapidly, he closed the pressure door and, from outside, operated the control panel to recharge the air. It had to be ready for the second bus's flight. Cal steeled himself for the next stage of the plan. It was one of rampant sabotage and he felt queasy at the thought.

He sat briefly in the driver's seat contemplating an irreversible action. Gripping the wheel tightly he steered the bus toward the landing pads. Three BSI shuttles were standing on their splayed tripod landing legs. Another five were spread on two other pads. They were tall and heavy. He would have to hit them hard to topple them. The bus had minimal mass compared to the rockets but maximising his velocity would provide significant momentum for impact. The complicating factor increasing the degree of difficulty was that he would be reversing to try and preserve himself from danger.

Looking over his shoulder and engaging full power, the bus began to surge backwards with ever increasing speed straight at the landing legs of the closest shuttle. He was hurtling, bracing himself for impact when the smashing collision shuddered through the vehicle crumpling its rear end. The shuttle teetered momentarily before overbalancing and collapsing. Cal shot forward in desperation trying to stay clear of the falling cylindrical craft. Even if Burnell's men hadn't heard the whine of the electric motor through the tenuous atmosphere or the louder collision, the shocking tremor transferred through the ground of the crashing shuttle was unmissable. And the flying debris from the dreadful impact couldn't fail to claim their attention.

Cal lined up the second of the shuttles and again used every watt of power to rush at it. A grinding vibration told of damage to part of the bus's undercarriage and it restricted his speed. Right before contact the vehicle lurched to one side as a wheel dislodged. The full force of the bus was unleashed on one leg of the landing gear. It buckled and leaned slowly before tumbling toward the third shuttle. The bus was trapped and Cal leaped from the cab in sheer panic and ran. The huge craft plunged toward the ground. Its nose tore a ragged gash in the remaining shuttle followed by a juddering, crushing end to its collapse. A shockwave and whump of sound rolled him over like a skittle. Fuel and liquid oxygen from the ruptured tanks had ignited.

Cal struggled to get to his feet. There was nothing he could do about the other shuttles now. A glance toward the building left no doubt that he was the centre of attention. Arms were pointing, fists were shaking; it would be a matter of minutes before suited pursuers were after him. He ran. With all his effort, he ran. Skirting the sealed wall that enclosed the multi-linked web of modules, he fought the constraint of the suit, the restricted supply of oxygen and the protests from poorly prepared muscles. Viktor had told him that a service airlock was on the extreme end of the wall. But he was beginning to doubt that he could make it. Each slight curve to his right revealed a greater distance that he must cross.

A single tone informed him that he was now in the last third of his air supply. His profligate use now would not help the situation at all. When the next bend revealed another fifty metres to traverse, Cal began to entertain the idea of surrender. The down side of that plan, apart from his personal safety, was that he was empowering them with another hostage, a replacement someone to use for bargaining.

His legs were seizing up; oxygen starvation and poor fitness had colluded to entrap him. Staggering around the next corner, he sighted the hatch about seventy metres away. He goaded himself on, flagellating himself with insults. "C'mon ya wimp...you can't give up now...twenty more metres."

Cal stumbled into the manual airlock operating wheel. He spun it anticlockwise and wrenched it open. Inside, he found himself in a secondary chamber. Once sealed in, he pressurised the confined space and exited into the primary chamber. Because this was already pressurised, he got out and reset the controls. The short respite was enough for him to regain his breath and jog along a tube to a third sealed hatch. This area had clearly been allocated for future expansion since there were no geometric poly-faceted domes from the outside wall to this inner junction.

He detached the headgear. His head poked out warily. No one was about. Viktor had instructed him to stick to the left and eventually he would arrive back at the rear entry point. It was a hit and miss affair. Sometimes he would go left into a module only to find it was the only connected entry point. He had to retrace and try the next left. The frustrations mounted. He would be caught. There was that sickening feeling that his escape would be cut off.

Cal pushed himself harder. Fastidiously, he secured each hatch after passing through, not willing to advertise the pathway he had taken. The perspiration from his exertion soaked his tee shirt inside the suit. The slightly oxygen rich air of the habitats aided his respiration demands but still he puffed. "Where is it, where is it?" he began panting in despairing rhythm, fearing that fatigue would overcome him before his race away from the base had started.

Emerging from a small water testing lab, Cal was confronted with his entry point. A gasp of relief escaped. "Finally!"

Logistics forced on him his next move. He went to the storage pod and retrieved two life support suits. The attachments were not compatible with his suit so he searched frantically for duct tape and a sharp blade. Wire cutting pliers and the tape were both located after a number of tubs were cast aside. He departed hurriedly absolutely desperate to get away.

Unbelievably, bullets started flying, ricocheting off the last door as he closed it. He ran to the trolley and leapt in. Slamming the controller full on, the wheels squealed and the trolley lurched wildly. Immediately, he was conscious of the biting cold. He pulled his helmet on, berating himself on such a novice's mistake. The inside of the visor initially fogged as the dehumidifier took time to take effect.

The trolley was soon travelling at full speed. In the distance shouts could be heard. More shots were fired, the sound muffled by the protective sphere of Polycarbonate and titanium alloy over his head. Small pieces of polymer coating and chips of rock splattered about him as some shots came dangerously near. As seconds passed the impacts became more distant and then he was out of range. He still had a way to go and his mind sieved through the likely hazards ahead. Could they match his speed somehow? Doubtful. Could they intercept him on the surface? He couldn't imagine how. What transport could they use? The shuttles were predominantly space craft. The hop to the Russian base being like an aborted orbit.

Cal began to relax. In twenty minutes, he'd be out of the tunnel and working his way to the traveller. His part of the scheme was almost complete. The big question was; were the other two successful? Had they managed to free the five hostages, steal the remaining electro-bus and get away? He hoped so. He would know when he got out. He could call them on the suit radio.

A sign on the side of the tunnel warned him to begin braking. Cal did so immediately. The increased gradient of the track, tested the effectiveness of deteriorating brake pads. He pressed harder but still there was little reduction in his forward velocity. With all his strength, he pushed on the brake lever. It bit. The wheels locked. High pitched discordant screeching accompanied a grinding, slowing carriage as the end of the line rapidly loomed. A crunching judder into buffers ended the ride, the momentum, propelling him into the front of the trolley.

Dazed and wobbly, Cal gained his feet and swayed in a stupor. He tried to clear his head and locate the transfer airlock to outside. He collected the two Russian suits and his improvised repair kit and moved, unsteadily along the wall. His head was still spinning and his thinking hazy. He remembered little of the transition through the air lock to the dark grotto, mechanically working the panel. A moment's scan of his surrounds augmented entrenched points of the plan. 'Climb back to the traveller, hoist the vehicle to the top of the canyon by engaging the winch and then full tilt to the transporter and then to the U.S. base.

The first point proved easy to remember but difficult to carry out. Now he was going up against the flowing, fluid sand. Every footstep was a battle against gravity and the imperative of every grain of sand he dislodged finding a lower energy state. Sweat soaked, heaving rasping breaths, Cal was startled to hear a more urgent three toned alarm and a flashing orange light on his wrist instructing him that he had thirty minutes normal use of air left. 'Maybe twenty at this rate' he conjectured.

His main concern was that the traveller was still not in sight. He continued wading along the clear trail they had left coming, dragging the two suits behind. Head down stride after stride, panting, feeling the sun now barely diminished by the vapid atmosphere, Cal compelled himself to persevere. The route swung down in an arc toward a ridge before ascending again. He drained the last drops from his water bladder and heard now the relentless bleating of his respiratory diagnostics pleading for him to find alternative supply. The alarm was shut off. It wouldn't change the fact that he was on borrowed time. Maybe five minutes before he would be required to sit in the sand and somehow adapt the distinctive Slavic engineering. He walked on, counting out a minute of air.

Raising his head obliterated the thought. The traveller was only metres ahead. With renewed energy, he pushed himself up to the vehicle. The air hose transfer to the recharged suit he had placed in the machine was deftly done within seconds. He turned on the alarm and heard the piano key riff which told him it was a refurbished life support. He plucked a spare water bottle, pressed its nozzle against the one-way valve and pressed hard to inject the contents into the bladder. That water fed through another one-way valve that mimicked vein architecture. He drank conservatively, aware that a long trip still lay ahead of him.

Cal engaged the reverse drive of the winch geared to the motor. He sat and recovered his breath as the unusual Martian conveyance was hauled up the half kilometre of carbon fibre cable. It took five minutes to top the long steep grade. To leave the driving seat he had to take the spare suit with him. There was a way he could swap over the life support packs, using a twenty-minute regimented and painstaking procedure. He chose to lug it with him instead. He pedantically undid the cable and extracted the awl, conscious that such an implement provided valuable options in harsh terrain.

Cal stowed it all away and commenced the long journey to the rendezvous. He would backtrack the first stretch, bringing the Russian base into view again. The route along the edge of the precipice was disconcerting but, he could see now, it was much smoother and freer of ejecta debris than closer to the crater.

Chapter 13

From the crest of the shoulder leading up to the smaller crater, Cal halted and took in the scenery. Standing on the seat he had a good view of both craters. Behind him was the twisting canyon with multi levels and the smallest crater of the three in his view. To his left was the smaller of the two main craters which was deeper than the Russian base crater. That was the direction of the transporter. He scanned the largest crater for any activity. From this distance he was unlikely to see any, especially since their transports were deactivated. Then he saw what he was hoping for. Looking into the distance to the north he could barely make out an electric bus heading across the raised defile joining the crater floor to a pass through the rim. It was heartening to see it. All indications were that the plan had worked.

Movement to his right grabbed his attention. Another electro bus was tearing after the first. Somehow they had missed a vehicle! Cal acted before calculating the risks. He drove the traveller at maximum speed down the slope to the connecting ridge. The pursuers were halfway across the crater floor. He reckoned that, with his greater speed, he could intercept the bus at the rim crossing. Only as he drove did other considerations occur to him. They were armed. Their bus was more massive than his traveller, and, if it came to a confrontation, they would easily outnumber him.

The pivotal question bounced around his head as if it reacted to the vigorous, rocking and jerking of the pitching traveller; what would he do when they met? He swerved and drifted in the friable thin crust, glued by some previous moisture event. Only one solution presented itself. He would crash into the bus. It couldn't be head on; he wouldn't survive. In some way he would devise a collision that would tip the bus off the narrow bridge of land. Then what would he do? Surrender. There was nothing left. No matter how he orchestrated the impact, the traveller was not robust enough to still be drivable. He would hope they didn't react vengefully. He might not live through it.

Another alternative occurred to him. If they hadn't come with spacesuits they would be stranded in the bus. It would mean they would have to rely on their cronies to rescue them. If that were the case, he would take the suits and make his way back to the Russian base, hopeful that he could elude exposure until he worked out an escape plan.

***

His sprint to the pass had exceeded his expectations. The traveller sat behind a cleft in the rim as Cal deliberated over his options. He tried to visualise how the encounter would play out. The bus was dragging itself up the incline. It would have to be a glancing blow to bump it over the closest edge. That would mean a last-minute decision to select his point of contact. The whole thing hinged on appearing at the last moment, catching the driver unprepared and not giving too much reaction time. He gauged his timing. The rapid acceleration of the electric motor allowed him to delay his destructive charge. Closer and closer, his arm twitched in readiness to shift the drive lever.

'Now', his mind commanded. Self-preservation rejected automatic compliance and Cal had to force himself to direct the traveller, like a carnival bumper car, on a ramming course with the bus. He watched the other driver instinctively swerve to avoid the collision. Then deviating slightly the opposite way, to give the impression that he too was trying to prevent a catastrophe, Cal swung in on the front of the approaching bus at forty five degrees. Already perilously close to the left edge the lurching shove was enough to send the vehicle plunge, front first, uncontrollably down the fragmented scree. Cal's vehicle rebounded far more than he imagined possible and sent him plummeting down the far steeper right into a gorge dark and deep.

The traveller slid and Cal braced himself. In slow motion it tumbled in a gritty avalanche of crumbling rock and sand. At some stage Cal was ejected from the carrier and rolled helplessly in a fearful slide of rubble. Terrified that the helmet would be compromised he tucked his head as close to his chest as he could and arched his arms over the top. Fine powdery dust clouded around and he lost all sense of up and down as the endless fall filled him with horror. One hard crack against a sharp outcrop and he knew it would be fatal.

Seconds passed before he realised he'd stopped falling. Pebbles and shards of rock continued to rain upon him from above and a current of fine regolith swept by but he lay still. When the shroud of dust finally settled his predicament slammed into him. His air hose had become detached from the spare suit. The valve had stopped any leakage but he would only have a few minutes before the build-up of carbon dioxide in his suit would begin to suffocate him. Reconnecting his own life support remnant air would gain a few extra minutes and he did that the instant he thought of it.

He searched down below. There was still some roiling of dust from the larger, rounder rocks continuing in a failing landslide. No traveller. On either side there was no evidence of the vehicle. Tentatively, he looked up. A climb; that was the last thing he needed on this slope. About forty metres up from where he was, the traveller teetered, caught on a protruding ledge. On all fours he started to swim up against the litter of pulverised rock, sand and dust. Gradually, with measured movements he scaled the unstable surface. Bit by bit he reduced the gap between him and his precious air supply. Because it was an open vehicle, everything had been secured, except him. Perhaps he would get out of this yet.

Twice he slid back, caught in a rush of fine gravel. His suit was screaming at him to renew his air supply. He switched the monitor off. Agonisingly, Cal crawled up to the traveller snared on the ledge. One grasp of a sidebar almost dislodged the lurching machine. Gripping onto rock instead, he raised himself to the seats. He gingerly unclipped the spare suit and reattached the air hose. The dry tang of mineral dust tainted the air he breathed. When the second Russian suit was removed, Cal wondered whether the traveller was salvageable. Maybe he could shift it off the ledge and roll it to the bottom. That hope was destroyed by the discovery of the bent shaft and punctured motor casing. A major repair was required and it was something only a workshop could achieve.

He retrieved the few things he could attach to the suit—a water container and his little connection kit. The three suits were piled on his knees as he sat on the steep slope. A few gentle wriggles and Cal was sliding down with the dirt and rubble. Every now and again he would slow to a stop. A small lunge forward would restart his downward momentum. Fine Martian dust clung to every part of him as he rose to his feet at the base of the drop. Now he walked. The three suits, strapped together trailed behind him. He knew that the entrance was seventeen or eighteen kilometres away. The broadening depression he was negotiating led back to the small crater and continued on until it fell away into the winding canyon.

Trudging mechanically, his mind wandered. Where was God in all this? Would he have escaped this trial if he'd sought divine guidance? Why hadn't he consulted the Lord or asked for wisdom? He had asked! Maybe he hadn't listened to the answer. Was he still so wrapped up in his own proficiencies?

"God help me." The words were breathed. The shame of his faithlessness drenched his being. Talbot's analogy again invaded his thoughts. Did he want God to pull the ripcord? Was there nothing he could do to change his direction? 'Draw near to God.' Wasn't that the refrain that was to guide his life? He had decided that, and then done nothing. He had looked in the mirror and then forgotten. Cal confessed his weakness then.

Swirling thoughts of what it meant to live his faith filled his mind as he kept the cadence of step after step. A text from his childhood took prominence. He could even envisage the plaque on the wall. The whole text eluded him but two phrases stood out: 'Set your hearts on things above...Set your minds on things above.' His father had said, 'if God has your heart and mind, he has all of you.'

Now it made more sense than ever before. If God had his inner being—his will, and his intellect—his reason, then he would be drawing near, committed and living his faith.

Maybe this affection he had for Chloe was another distraction he had to overcome. He would attempt to fill his life with finding out what God wanted and leave the other stuff to him. Talbot's scrutiny and the family's proactive faith had intimidated Cal anyway. He couldn't measure up.

The constant mulling over his ineffectual faith led to a whispered and meditated desire to know God. All that was interrupted when his suit alarm sounded again. This time it wasn't simply a case of exchanging to another suit. He now had to adapt the Russian connection to his own. Even though he still had ten minutes, he sat down and readied the cutting pliers and his tape, realising he hadn't actually determined how the connection would be made.

Examining the Russian suit aroused an awareness that there were some differences and problems he'd have to surmount, not the least being the internal tanks compared to the detachable backpack of his own suit. He could try and find a connection point and tape it to his inlet hose or he could mangle the suit and disassemble the tank. Cal favoured pulling it apart and scavenging the tank. That way he could discard the rest and lessen his load. Carefully he pared away the electrics and control panel. The tough material resisted his efforts to sever it apart. When the second alarm went his urgency was raised. The tank still needed to be isolated and he had to determine the best way to fabricate an airtight connection. To his chagrin he saw, too late, how the tank could be removed without destroying the suit. It was clearly a modification to the moulded in life support model—allowing tank replacement instead of recharging—and he had found out about it the hard way.

With the tank detached, Cal studied the nozzle and the external hose into his own suit. In the end he had to extract the gas feed regulator from the foreign suit and attach it to the tank. From there he began taping it to his external supply hose, cutting and adapting the connection with duct tape. His alarm was screeching by the time he had taped the tank to his chest and turned it on.

For the first time he was aware of the lengthening shadows. He didn't want to be hiking along this gully in the dark so he hurried up his pace. When he finally came across the track marks of the traveller it boosted his confidence. He was on course. Though still having several kilometres to go and the light fading fast, Cal was already weighing up his tactics for inside the base.

That all changed when his suit alarm sounded again. His first reaction was disbelief. A Russian suit was good for at least six hours. The next phase was self-abuse. He had assumed. You don't assume in space or on Mars. His assumption was that the Russian suits were fully charged. Normally suits would be. But these had been abandoned. Nobody would bother recharging discarded suits...except, maybe, himself because he always operated on the 'just-in-case' principle.

He strode with renewed purpose in an effort to gain as much ground as he could from the depleting air in the tank. The nagging doubt that hassled him now was how much air was in the remaining tank. It could be empty! There was no way of knowing. When the second alarm sounded, Cal forced himself to go even faster.

Fine dust in the atmosphere created a reddish glow in the glooming dusk. He knew the night would make his progress more hazardous. Apart from getting lost there was the sheer chasm he was moving alongside. The alarm again assaulted his senses. This time its discordant appeals alluded to the jeopardy he was in. If there was no air in the remaining tank, he would be dead within minutes. It gave Russian roulette a whole new significance.

He could delay no longer. Sitting down and switching his helmet light on, the next tank exchange was more methodical. Cal removed the taped tank from his chest and then taking out the tank from the last suit he readied the nozzle for insertion into his modified connection. The first gasp was a relief. At least there was some air. Quickly taping the tank to his chest, he now had no burdens to drag along. This last supply came with no guarantee that it would be sufficient; he had to keep moving.

The helmet light cast a semicircle of visible track against the blackening bulwarks of the craters about him. A short beep told him his battery pack had scaled to orange. A loss of light would make the downhill segment of his trail back all the more treacherous. He was starting to wonder where the landslip descent was when the scuffs and gouges of the vehicle's traverse at the drop-off appeared before him. Ignoring its steepness, he started down. Twice he lost his footing and chose to drop into a sitting position and slide to an eventual stop. About half way down his foot caught on a larger rock and he reeled forward into an uncontrolled tumble. A spinning world of grit and dust and an avalanche of pebbles threatened to curtail his survival quest.

***

Only the sound of his breathing filled his black world. He'd stopped moving, everything was dark. Cal sat up tentatively on the unstable gradient. The gauges on his suit were on so he still had sufficient voltage. He tapped the helmet light. It flickered. It flickered again and then remained on. Cal breathed a thank you. Looking about there were no tracks. Had the avalanche obliterated the wheel and track marks? Peering down as far as he could he couldn't make out any evidence of wheels or feet. He started climbing back up. It was a possibility that the slide had taken him past the side deviation to the grotto entry.

About fifteen metres up he caught sight of the tracks he and the others had made. An audible sigh and then an expression of his gratitude, "Thank you Lord." His acknowledgement of the divine presence reinforced the feeling he had that he was being preserved. His progress still felt slow but he was within reach of a cocoon of safety. It was a place where he could breathe and be warm and even eat and drink. It was also a place where he could be captured and cruelly treated, perhaps even lethally dealt with. At least now it would be in other's hands—or perhaps, reasoned Cal, it had always solely been in God's hands.

The metal entry loomed large before him. He was filled with relief and thankfulness as he worked quickly to gain entry.

***

Inside the base, a multitude of ideas vied for his attention. His thoughts were episodic. He reflected on the ease of his entry. There was no reason why they should expect him to return. If they had communicated with the pursuers on their electro bus, they may consider him dead. It was unlikely their bus could escape the gully it had plunged into, but there was no reason why they couldn't have walked back to the base, provided they had life support suits. He found it hard to imagine their state of mind. They had been discovered and their plot frustrated at the Russian base. Having been caught out in criminal activity they now were left with the problem of escaping ultimate justice. That at least was Cal's take on events. He was thankful the return trolley was without drama.

'What now?' That was the critical issue. He could repair the third bus, which in fact had turned out to be one of four, and try to escape in that. He would need a Russian suit to wear. Eating and sleeping were also priorities. No matter what he attempted, without recuperating through food and rest he would be a blithering wreck. Remaining hidden was also essential.

Cal crept warily to some of the storage pods Viktor had shown them. He selected a spacesuit to pick up on the way back and then wound his way to the large kitchen pantry. No one was about. Not surprising since it was almost the middle of the night. Whatever nefarious schemes they had in mind; he was sure that they would get their sleep first before they put it into action. Out of the few packages and containers still there he opted for some muesli bars and water. Stale crackers, sultanas, bottled water and a can of peas were random choices for takeaway fare.

***

The residential zone of interconnected domes was far too risky to sleep in even though a number of spare rooms could be found. Instead, Cal tucked himself into a storage drawer under layers of towels. The strenuous and stressful adventures of the previous day had wrung him out. A whispered prayer faded on his lips as conscious thoughts were burgled by sleep. It was a deep, restorative sleep. There was a twilight wakefulness where time and location were mysteries. His brain sensed his disorientation and began replaying his circumstances like a film clip in his head.

When Cal emerged from the drawer, he felt groggy and grotty and hungry. He chuckled as he settled to consume his weird selection of foods. The time, automatically programmed in his watch told him it was eleven in the morning Mars time. By convention, all inhabitants and stake holders had agreed that from midnight thirty seven minutes twenty two seconds would be added before the next day began. So, hours would be the same as on Earth and there was a weird parenthesis in the time clock each night to accommodate the slower rotation of the planet.

Cal spent time reading the thin digital computer that had been attached to the front of his shirt. His meddling with the vehicles would have to wait till the night. He would keep low during the day and hope no one came by. His first ploy was to find a local digital network the mercenaries of Burnell's team were using and discover what they were up to. He was disappointed that only a few personal computers were operating and they were functioning for only trivial purposes.

He set about finding the text he had half remembered the previous night. The verses were found in Colossians. The words were strangely reassuring. The text was telling him that the 'setting of heart and mind' was not a chore but a response to what Christ had already done—'raised with Christ.' It was one of those mysterious abstract concepts where, by all accounts, he'd died with Christ and was raised in new life...a life 'hidden with Christ in God'. His father had once tried to explain it saying it was like a legal process where all the documents were signed and sealed but settlement hadn't occurred yet. Or like a will; he would be the recipient when the will was enacted. The process would culminate when Christ comes again. So he should live under the new agreement...he was bought with a price...he was adopted as an heir; and despite his failures, nothing would change that. That was why the writer then went on to direct him to 'put to death' and refrain from behaving in certain ways. The converse was that he should also engage in positive behaviours by 'putting on' certain Christ-like characteristics. If it was like clothing, he thought, maybe 'clothes did make the man'. There was an impression he got that if you behave in a certain good way often enough, long enough, you start becoming a better person. Not of himself of course; it was this surrender, this acknowledgement, that Christ is 'all in all', and his Spirit would enable someone to walk such a path.

He spent some time praying about what would happen in the future if he ever got out of this mess. His devotions were interrupted by sounds of people approaching. Unsure where they would come from and where he could flee, to get away, he lay in the drawer and closed it on himself. Two voices were immersed in conversation. The gist of the dialogue was that they would be caught and destined for prosecution if they didn't get away. No payment was worth incarceration, both conceded. They lingered in the store room as they discussed ways to escape once they had crowded on the remaining shuttles. The mayhem caused by a small group of resistance meant three shuttles weren't worth the risk. Two were write-offs and one had compromising damage even though it avoided direct destruction by the madman driving the bus. Cal couldn't help enjoying his anonymous notoriety even as the two left, speculating on the possibility of still gaining control of the space station.

For Cal, the tedious afternoon was only tolerated because of the anticipated action later that night. He occupied himself snoozing and whiling away the time daydreaming about the pitfalls of pursuing his affection for Chloe, wondering whether the ache he had was jealousy or anger or regret. The wallowing was something he rebuked himself for but he couldn't disentangle his emotions from his thoughts.

Lights dimmed and then were extinguished at ten that night. His furtive scouting showed that several groups were still awake in the common dining area. A cache of Russian delicacies had been found in one of the storage areas. There were groups eating caviar, drinking and boisterously laughing along with others card playing and throwing darts. It appeared a frivolous disregard for their predicament. Cal left them to their diversions.

In the transport bay, he perused the damage to the remaining electro bus. A tool kit in the cab was all he needed to set to work. The electrical loom had been severed in two places but it wasn't irreparable. Why they hadn't bothered to reconnect the wires baffled him until he saw that the controller was also missing. The problem wasn't beyond remediation but more complex and the performance would be affected if he engineered a manual rheostat to cater for the motor's variable power demands. He wasn't going to quibble about the most effective solution. It had to work; that was the criteria.

Patiently, he strung wires stripped from some of the other sabotaged vehicles and cannibalised some parts as well. Normally, he would isolate the circuits and ensure no live wires were connected, but he wanted maximum charge and so the battery was on charge. He did disconnect the link from the battery to the motor and he was wary of getting a shock, tapping a circuit indicating screwdriver every now and then just to reassure himself it was safe.

Once the loom was refurbished, he started installing the variable resistor he had devised. On completion a couple of test runs convinced him that he would end up burning out the motor or wasting so much energy he'd fail to reach the U.S. base. He used his computer to remind himself about the basics of using a rapid pulse switch transistor; in other words, construct his own controller. Finding the parts was the challenge. He scoured the limited range of left-over spare parts and came out with all but the vital microprocessor. He wandered into an annex and was jubilant when he saw an electric motor abandoned after beginning to be overhauled on a workbench. It had a controller intact.

Cal quickly had it installed in the bus and then reflected on his buoyant mood. On previous occasions when large chunks of valuable time were wasted, he would whinge and gripe as if the world had conspired against him. Was it possible that brief meditations on scripture, short petitions and a conscious disposition to thankfulness could transform his habitual belligerence?

His watch had auto-adjusted. It was before three in the morning. If he got out without being detected then he had an excellent chance to make it to their rendezvous, going directly instead of retrieving the transporter. It hit him. No one would be there. He had instructed them not to wait. No one should be there. From there he could drive to the original colony. There would be no need to go back to Mars Colony because he could leave on Dart. The idea appealed to him. Job done and leave without a fuss. Of course, it would be disappointing to miss saying farewell to James and Kelly but the adage, 'discretion is the better part of valour' might apply in this situation. A confrontation with Gardiner Talbot or his daughter, Chloe, could lead to more unfortunate sniping. He didn't think he had such control over his temperamental self-righteousness to hold it in check. Rather, he would relish his small gains and aim to embed them as a way of life.

He shook himself back to reality. It was all a bit presumptuous. He hadn't left the old Russian base yet. Carefully, Cal rolled the bus into the air lock. He swiftly gathered his things. Water, food and the suits were necessities, so too were the tape and pliers but he now had a certain noble loyalty to them that made them indispensable.

All was in readiness. The airlock was pumped out. It seemed noisier than last time. He was jittery. The meter indicated equilibrium with exterior pressure. The bus edged onto the sensor that raised the sealed doors when Cal saw two very irate men banging on the huge internal pressure door. They had missed by seconds the opportunity to re-pressurise the airlock and capture him. Now that the outer door was sliding across a failsafe prevented opening the facility to the near vacuum outside. He was out!

With great alacrity, Cal raced the bus along the concrete apron of the launch pads and then onto the crater floor. His heart was thumping. Turning the headlights on, he could follow the tracks of the two vehicles that had preceded him days before; one had been pursuing the other with the occupants of the first vehicle being totally unaware of the danger they were in. He contemplated. That sat well with the new Cal. He would never tell them that he had intervened, that he had endangered his life to allow them a clean getaway.

Conscious of a high-pitched vibration, he throttled the bus back a bit to allow for a more economic use of energy. The ten kilometres across the crater went rapidly. He spent time audibly thanking God for deliverance and requesting that he didn't become proud of his humility. He grinned at the convoluted thought.

"Let's just keep it between you and me, Lord," he declared. The idea that God had used these tumults in his life to get his attention stirred affection for this unseen deity. It was not so much the constant sense of helplessness, of being caught in a current of events; it was the critical evaluation of his life that had rung true. It was the realisation that the only person he had been fooling was himself. God cared enough that he had interceded in his life to put him on the right path. God was holding up the mirror. Slowing to see what had befallen the bus proved fruitless; it was far too dark.

Cal veered north and headed toward the much-maligned U.S. base. It had been shut down, like the Russian one, because the supply of water was too limited for expansion. But there had also been much international opposition about the nationalistic interests of the super powers for Mars. It was a planet having a war mythology but had been designated the 'Peace Planet' by the U.N. It seemed now, that ideal illusion was shattered.

The drive was long and boring. He crossed a broad depression as the sun slowly rose. The tracks made by the electro bus that Viktor had driven were still clear. To pass the time he played audio scripture, snacked and listened to music from his computer.

The bus trundled along at an average of forty kilometres per hour and only when he passed a small crater or a sizeable boulder did he feel the sensation of speed. Otherwise the slightly undulating landscape gave few clues about his progress. In all it took a little over five hours to traverse the distance to the vicinity of another crater—the biggest of the craters he'd driven to. He figured the upheaval caused by the impact zone created access to underground water ice and that was why settlements has been established near craters. The US domes, some of the first to be placed on the planet were modular, like the Russian base. These constructions were more conventional domes with only the interlocking connecting panels being flat surfaces.

The site looked deserted. The track marks indicated that a vehicle had been and gone. He followed the marks to a charging bay. At this early base most things were external except for the living and working habitats. He would imitate what the others had done and top up the charge. That meant he had to suit up, exit using a stiff plastic door bladder, which meant a loss of some air, and plug in the vehicle. Having completed that, he entered the nearest airlock. The air fed in slowly through valves and then he gained entry to the habitat itself.

James had written on a board. 'Cal. Had to leave after spending night here. Gardiner Talbot very ill. Urgency to get to Colony and rectify the situation. Hope to see you soon. James.' The succinct message underscored his concern. They would still have a seven-hour journey to the original multinational base and then two hours to the Colony which had a few doctors on staff. Cal considered resuming his journey immediately but the pointlessness of doing so became apparent quickly. He was up to a day and a half behind them and they were probably already safe in Colony. He would rest, allow the bus to recharge and leave in the morning. There was no need to test the battery limits of the bus and reactive decisions could result in him walking the Mars-scape again, something he was not keen to do.

Chapter 14

Departure in the morning went without a hitch. The drive to his next destination was almost a repeat of the previous day, except longer. This stretch was even more featureless than the last leg of the journey. One noticeable crater riveted his attention, if only for its interruption to the monotony. Other smaller ones and even pock marks gained a second glance. It wasn't till the last thirty-five kilometres that numerous parallel, shallow, wide gullies running from southwest to northeast had to be crossed that he perked himself up. The walls of the Pinwheel Crater began looming. Quite visible from ten k away, their rugged grandeur and sheer aspect became obvious the closer he drove. He became very watchful when dropping down into the steepest gully nearest it because it required some informed navigational decisions.

It was on the steep ascent adjacent to the rising crater rampart that Cal saw the tracks of the other bus begin to shimmy. Something had gone wrong. With seven in the vehicle there was little they could do till they got to the base. He followed the tracks, which wandered like a wounded animal. Viktor must have struggled with the steering. Maybe a flat tyre or even a broken axle, whatever it was it must have been frightening for those inside.

Cal arrived in the early afternoon. To his surprise people were still there. Upon exiting the bus in the vehicle bay, he was greeted exuberantly by James. Melanie came after and also gave him a vigorous hug. He saw Chloe and her male companion and the pilot walking into the cavernous space, less euphoric than the others. Melanie noticed his glance and remarked, "She's worried about her sick father." James came back up as Melanie stepped back.

"You made it," stated James.

Cal looked at the bus they had arrived in. "Looks like you almost didn't."

"Yeah...we broke a suspension strut...barely made it here."

The scrape marks of the tyre on the vehicle bay floor attested his claim.

He spoke to James in a low voice, "So...you wrote that Talbot was ill. Where is he?"

"He was really sick...maybe something he ate at the Russian base. Anyway, Viktor got us to transfer the battery to a traveller and we dressed Gardiner in my suit. They left fairly soon after that. We haven't heard anything since."

James desisted from his tale at a widening of Cal's eyes. "Hello Chloe," he said cautiously, aware the last words he had spoken to her had been dismissive and hurtful.

"Well, Mr Dorner makes it here at last. I heard you had to distract our captors while we made our escape. I trust you didn't have too much difficulty."

He was taken aback by the unexpected hostility in her words.

"No...no, that part went quite smoothly." He stopped there. He wanted to crow. Something within demanded he claimed his kudos. In his head he begged for strength, 'Help me Lord.'

Chloe quickly turned to the man who had scuffed his feet as he stood next to her. "Er...Calvin Dorner, this is Aaron Wadsworth. Aaron is one of the sustainable environmental architects who work for Interspace."

Aaron thrust out his hand, "I've heard a lot about you Calvin...some pretty wild stories."

"I'm sure they're exaggerated," he replied.

"Well, it seems you'll be a handy man to have around. There doesn't seem to be much of anything here. And...we don't know how long we have to wait before help arrives."

Cal shook his head. "It's not a problem anymore. We'll charge the bus up and you're only a few hours from Mars colony."

"Right...right, of course."

The fact that Cal had positioned his bus on the other side of the damaged bus contributed to Wadsworth's inability to see the patently obvious. When Cal noted his craned neck and traced his eye line it dawned on him that neither Chloe nor he had seen how he had arrived. The plan had been that he would be driving the traveller. That would have been small comfort to them since three was the maximum it could carry and spacesuits were required.

"And..." she gained his attention aware she had been remiss in her manners. "And this is Captain Ralston. He piloted the second shuttle." Cal shook his hand and the pilot also appeared to cheer up when he noticed the other bus.

Chloe had moved away and was speaking with Melanie so Cal excused himself from Aaron and drove the bus to the charging setup. He retrieved the few supplies from inside and went and spoke to James. James Schwartz was explaining to him about the small traveller rover. "It didn't have a battery so we thought it wasn't much good. I mean, the bus certainly would have struggled to make the Colony on a full charge with the damaged strut but the rover was no use to us at all."

"Yeah, well...its twin was fairly useful for me in getting from here to there and then to the polar water mine...with the battery I took from the one left here."

"So it was you? ...Doesn't make any difference...Viktor used it anyway...I told you...he swapped over the batteries."

Cal changed the subject. Is the electrolysis of the water keeping up with the oxygen demand?"

"Only just...but without food everyone is getting weaker."

Cal talked about getting some food and water for everyone.

"Where do you suggest?" James sounded deflated as if he'd searched the whole facility and he knew what Cal didn't, that this place had nothing to offer.

"We could try the old water retrieval dome," suggested Cal. "That's keeping the oxygen electrolysis supplied and we could tap some from it."

"Sure...water is better than nothing," admitted James.

Then Cal beamed. "Or...I could go to the Dart and get some food from there."

"You landed here?"

"Uh huh...why don't I grab some and go to the common room and we can have a meal together. Getting back to base could be the last hurdle before everything returns to normal."

In the Dart there were several missives from Carson asking what he was up to and that there were a number of contracts waiting to be taken up. Cal wondered what had changed from his recent insistence that he take a vacation. He didn't answer them.

***

Cal walked in with arms full of packed, sealed meals; it had been the standard fare of space-farers for decades. James had diverted some of the water away from the small reservoir feeding the electrolysis chamber and poured it into bottles. He heard the pump for the well start up. It extracted water from a deep well with a heating element fixed on the end. The pump pushed it through a filter and deioniser before it got to the reservoir. With some of the appliances still intact, food could be heated and they all ate them with the limited elegance with which packaged space food could be eaten. The group's morale revived. Satisfied stomachs did much to ameliorate the spartan conditions of the shelters.

Six people sat around a table. Cal listened as others were making conversation about Haslet Burnell's takeover bid. Feeling awkward, unwilling to participate in the topic which could broach the issue of his role in proceedings, he called on orders for hot drinks. His dodging of any inquisition was short-lived as Melanie decided to offer assistance. In semi privacy, behind the kitchen servery, she decided to tackle him about his unsociable self-delusion.

"I saw the way you look at her. Why don't you tell her how you feel?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Chloe...You clearly have a thing for her."

"A thing?"

"Love..." Melanie fluttered her eyelashes as she said it. Cal grabbed some mugs off a shelf.

"I think she's spoken for."

A sly smile appeared on her face. "Well what about me then...I'm available. I don't scrub up too badly do I?"

Cal paused to consider what he was trying to do with the cups and then opted for freeze dried coffee as opposed to relying on a disused coffee machine. He pursed his lips. Yes, Melanie was attractive. He would argue that there was more to love than that.

"So...because a girl is... 'pretty'... is that the basis for a relationship?"

"You're saying it's not important?"

A tight lipped expression described his deliberations. "Okay...I'd be lying if I said a pretty face didn't attract my attention...but love... I think real love is ultimately a choice."

"Go on...I'm listening." Melanie had an amused, sceptical expression.

He slowly doled out the spoonful of coffee to each cup to give himself time to articulate a coherent point of view.

"This is the way I see it. Couples are drawn together by a variety of situations and for a number of reasons..."

"That's hardly profound."

"Hey...I haven't finished...so, he might find her attractive and be moved by desire and passion but those are things linked with infatuation and are often opposite to the qualities of love. Those things are selfish or self-serving and are about personal gratification. The qualities of love are selfless, giving and, even, sacrificial."

"So...you're looking around for an ugly, repulsive partner to demonstrate that your love is selfless and sacrificial?"

"Maybe...maybe if I was a saint or very perceptive, I might detect the qualities within people that are real and that last, which aren't superficial beauty or physical desirability. But, I'm not that paragon of virtue. One thing I have come to realise. Jesus knows how ugly and repulsive I am...in my selfishness and pride and he still loves me with a sacrificial love...like a mother loves her child regardless of its appearance."

"So what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that there is nothing wrong with beauty, with physical attractiveness...it's God given...I appreciate it...but it's not what you build a relationship on. It's like the cover of a book. It might attract you but there's no guarantee that the contents will keep you interested."

"Now you're talking my language. The library is full of books. You return that one and try another one!" She laughed.

"Mm...okay...that's not a very good analogy." Another idea occurred to him. "I know...imagine you want to co-author a book. You see the cover, attractive, even stirring... but unless the synopsis offered by another author is what you want to produce, you're wasting your time. They'll be writing one plot and you another. It won't work. People will get angry...their goals are frustrated and there is no cooperation. If you have the same theme you'll negotiate, encourage, help...their good is your good and the work will be coherent, solid, a unity...if not a masterpiece."

Melanie was quiet. She twitched her nose slightly. "That is actually quite profound...a marriage is like a narrative isn't it...And the goal is happily ever after." She had a wistful look. Melanie tilted her head. "So...you're okay with my cover but you don't like my synopsis?"

"Something like that."

"What's wrong with my synopsis?"

"We have a different principal character. You've already said you don't think much of my belief...well over the last week I've become more convinced than ever that it's the only thing that makes sense."

The conversation tailed off with Melanie making occasional despondent suggestions about authors compromising, conceding to the other and just going along. Cal asked her if she really thought that would engender honesty and mutual support in a relationship, or would it result in harbouring resentment.

"Maybe I'll get back to you on this," concluded Melanie. "I mean this Christian stuff...And I suppose that a relationship still needs more than just having the same beliefs. I really haven't ever bothered giving it serious consideration."

For the first time Cal warmed a little to the usually self-possessed doctor. She was showing a vulnerable side and finding out about Jesus would take some humility.

Sometime later, when Cal moved about in the central common dome ensuring all were still coping with the limited provisions and comfort, Chloe confronted him without warning.

"Melanie and you had a nice long chat I saw...for someone who claims to not be in a relationship."

Cal's jaw dropped at the assertion. His first impulse was to justify the conversation. There was no way he could describe the interaction without sounding sanctimonious. Then suddenly, against his better judgement, he sniped. "Well you and Wadsworth looked pretty chummy getting off the shuttle. You gave me the impression you didn't have a boyfriend."

"You didn't ask," she retorted. "And, anyway, we've known each other for a long time; we're just good friends."

Cal was already regretting his outburst. He held up both hands in surrender. "You're right...it's none of my business." He escaped to the side airlock and started suiting up as Chloe followed him in.

"So...I'll be truthful. I encouraged Aaron to show a bit of affection because I'd heard you would be at Mars Colony...I wanted to get you jealous...get back at you for not standing up for me against my dad...I'm sorry."

Cal looked at her with disbelief. "But your dad was right. I am like he described...He was only trying to protect you."

"Did it ever occur to you that I don't need that sort of protection?"

James broke in on them then. "Oh, sorry to interrupt...something has arisen. Can I talk with you a moment?"

Chloe, seeing that James wanted some privacy, said she'd talk later.

"What's the problem?" Cal resumed fitting on his spacesuit.

"I was telling Ralston, the pilot, how we got to them and he pointed out to me that the traveller is still at the Russian base. They might send some men after us. Three men with weapons would easily overpower us."

"The traveller is no more...not to drive anyway." His head gestures matched his words.

"What do you mean? What happened?"

Cal looked determined. "I want you to promise that this is just between you and me."

"Why?"

"Let's say...God has been teaching me that my pride is the biggest barrier to him using me...that I have to learn some humility...so no more embellished tales of heroic escapades."

James looked doubtful. "All...right."

Cal launched into retelling about the pursuing bus, theorising that it was in use at the time they counted vehicles. He told of the entangling interception to prevent their capture and how that all transpired for him to become more acquainted with the ways of God.

"Getting yourself killed is not going to help anyone," chided James. But Cal knew the agricultural scientist had a caring nature despite the harsh sounding words.

"I survived," he answered blandly. "And then, I had assumed, by taking the spare suits I would have replenished tanks, and should be able to walk the last bit if I had to. Fortunately, it worked out for the good for me. If I hadn't had the collision I wouldn't have been forced back. Instead I'd be relying on tanks that were only partially full." He left how that would have ended unsaid.

James resisted lecturing Cal on his recklessness. The relative safety they had was in part due to his actions. "So...you're saying there's no danger of being followed?"

"That's right...as far as I could tell."

The conversation went in several directions after that. It led to Cal readying the Dart for launch on the merest suspicion that they were in jeopardy. He also contacted the colony using his radio and heard that Talbot was recovering from severe food poisoning. Baz told him that Burnell's ships had left the Russian base with the exception of three that appeared to have been involved in an accident.

Cal informed Baz that the remainder of the group would arrive back in the morning if all went to plan. He would launch the Dart and see if it was possible to locate where Burnell had fled. He re-entered the dome and observed Melanie and Chloe talking for the second time that he could remember. He spoke to James about his communication with Mars Colony before telling him he was going to get some sleep. The news about Talbot was passed on to Chloe through James. James and Chloe got on well as they talked about their mutual faith and the challenges of having a sanctified relationship in a secular world. They talked deep into the night.

While they were talking, Melanie came over to him she shook her head with mock solemnity.

"After talking with Chloe I've decided you guys are smart but you aren't very wise. She cares for you."

"She cares for everyone. She's that sort of person."

"Garbage," she retorted. "You're both being obstinate. She's very pretty and you're in denial that you love her."

He wasn't going to argue. "Goodnight Melanie." Cal decided to sleep in the comfort of the Dart rather than face the prospect of further encounters with Chloe or Melanie, who both seemed determined to put the spotlight on his motives, his commitment and the quagmire of his emotions.

A disturbing radio call in the morning caused him to advance his plans for departure. The recovering Talbot had called and sought the welfare of his daughter. Cal let him know that Chloe and the other three were all well. Gardiner then snidely remarked that they had managed to prevail against the odds without his bravado or heroics thanks to Viktor and James.

"So I'll let her know you're in fine form too." He ended the conversation before he blurted some nasty contradiction.

It was still early and the deprivations of the past few days had resulted in five people still fast asleep when Cal came into the dome. James roused himself and greeted his friend.

"Could you give this to Chloe?" he handed a note to James. "I've decided to leave straight away and try and follow up some inconsistencies that occurred to me last night."

James opened the note and read: 'I am sorry for the grief I have caused you and your father. I have learned much about living out my faith from both of you. I have no right to resent your relationship with Aaron Wadsworth and wish you both well.'

"Wouldn't it be better to talk this out with her?"

"We seem to lock horns whenever we talk."

James made as if to add some advice but desisted as if his tongue was reined in. "What inconsistencies? What happened last night." he added as an afterthought.

Things that were said and things that were done churned about in his mind. His head tilted back as if he sought inspiration. "I meant, I thought about them last night."

"Thought about what?"

"Oh...I don't know...just a hunch, I guess." James screwed his face as if nothing made sense.

Cal was heading toward the air lock when his friend spoke. He waved the piece of paper in his hand. "I think this is a mistake Cal."

Chapter 15

The process of attaching the boosters on Phobos was easy compared to depositing them. The anchors he had placed allowed the robotic extensions of Dart to have a rigid support from which to operate. Cal exited to make the cabling connections and engage the clamps around each long cylinder. When the circuits were tested from the exterior panel the job was done. The anchors would remain. Who knew when they might come in handy again? He remained in the hollow of the giant crater watching the surface of the planet as it slowly appeared to move beneath him. At one time he had been down there looking up at Phobos. Now it was the converse. He imagined that he was closing a door in the corridor of opportunities. Maybe it was being closed on him. He felt an inconsolable ache.

On Mars Docking Base, he learned that they had been overrun by a squad of Burnell's mercenaries. The raiders had left suddenly a few days ago. All communication equipment had been wrecked. A couple of techies said they might be able to patch something together in a few weeks. Cal had them fill up his boosters to sixty percent and said he would see what he could do to get them some replacement equipment. A call to the ASA trio had Aldo affirming that they would do a fuel stop on their way back and help them out.

The return flight to Earth orbit went quicker than the journey there for two reasons. Firstly, Mars had just passed alignment with Earth which is usually near the closest point between the two planets. The other reason was physics. He was returning with little more than a half fuel load, reducing the rocket mass dramatically and meaning the same fuel burn time would generate almost twice the acceleration. This time Cal resisted the temptation to push the maximum acceleration, choosing to conserve fuel and relax. He considered one g enough stress on his body after what he'd been through, and after his reduced Martian weight.

He slept, read his Bible and spent some time reviewing some new quantum programs using algorithms he'd designed to speed shared memory with the companion super computer. All the while a nebulous idea tantalised him, suggesting a solution which never gained form. The wrinkle in his brain was a pervasive notion that he was missing a key player in this plot.

He set aside the puzzle and concentrated on the whereabouts of Burnell. His economic use of fuel would enable him to search out a few locations. If the space magnate wasn't on Earth then that left BSI's space station as the most likely, but perhaps too obvious, hideaway. They may have attempted another foray against the Interspace station, though Talbot had attained UN participation in its protection. He would check them out, nevertheless. The only other options were the docking platform and the moon base.

The Dart had matched the orbit of Talbot's behemoth and all appeared serene. No BSI shuttles to be seen and a maintenance team still working on the airlock he had butchered. A freighter was delivering large tube segments for the continuation of the secondary torus and a crew was easing them into position. He gave a call to the com officer to enquire whether they had heard any news of Burnell. The answer was a definitive no. They were completely in the dark about the attempted seizure of Mars Colony and Cal thought it best that someone else elucidate them on the episode.

The next orbit closer in would be BSI. He decided to call the CTSS crew on the docking platform. Scanlon answered. His first comment made Cal twitch.

"CT is mad that you haven't been around."

"Why? What's his problem? The Pegasus Satellite acting up again?"

"No. It's operating perfectly. Did you do the diagnostics to find out what went wrong?"

"Oh...sorry. Haven't got around to that yet. So, why is Carson upset?"

"That's the crazy thing. He wants you to do a maintenance upgrade on our sats...I know...it's not as though it's urgent."

"You're right...that is crazy. Prentice or Quorn could do that if they're around."

"He gave them both a week off."

Cal tried to comprehend what he said. "He gave them time off and wants me...who is owed months, to do routine chores...and he was telling me I needed a holiday!"

"You sound a bit peeved...I guess understandable after what you've been through...there were rumours of hostages...so, I heard things are sorted on Mars now...what happened?" He was fishing for news.

Cal was unwilling to go into details. "I'll tell you about it when you have a spare few hours."

"Giselle said she can't wait to hear it."

'That would be right,' he thought. 'Cal Dorner was famous for regaling audiences, of anyone who'd listen, with his fantastic escapades.' "Listen, what have you heard of Haslet Burnell?"

"Nothing...Did he have something to do with Mars?"

"So...no news about him or his crew going back to Earth?"

"No...I assumed he was still on the BSISS." Scanlon's penchant for acronyms and abbreviations amused Cal. "Well...if you hear anything let me know. I'll talk with Carson and find out what's got him in a lather."

"When you find out, let us know. He's been like that since he came aboard the platform about eight days ago. He was ranting about not knowing why he ever agreed to your freelance contract."

"Carson came onto the platform? Why?"

"...Said a customer was worried about their satellite...the Pegasus one...yeah, he came on his own private spacecraft...just like his old astronaut days."

"He piloted himself?" The story was sounding more unbelievable by the minute. "He must have really been annoyed."

"Well...he kept rambling on about what you were doing on a private contract when you were supposed to be on a break. And he stayed for a day seething about never knowing where you are and trying to get you to respond to his messages."

Cal broke off the conversation telling him he'd keep in touch. "And...don't tell Carson I've been in. I'll talk to him first." He wasn't sure what had prompted him to say that. It was as though he had to clear the air with his boss but he didn't know the cause.

His surreptitious approach to the Burnell facility would still have been detected if he had merely propelled his craft in the right direction and coasted toward the space station. There was no sneaking in space. A simple radar detection alarm was mandatory for the increasing orbital traffic. However, since he closely shadowed a satellite some distance inside the space station orbit, only a diligent operator would examine the signal. What happened was that when he and the satellite came in range of the radar, the alarm sounded, the operator glanced at the computer readout, determined that it was a listed, routine, detection and muted the alarm. A light would flash until the satellite and the Dart were again out of range.

During that period, Cal directed his telescopic camera and other imaging devices at the station. Nothing indicated that the fleeing raiders had taken refuge at their home base. There were only a few shuttles. He couldn't help thinking that the place was an impressive structure. If it hadn't been for Interspace, it would have qualified as a wonder of the technological world. In all the time he watched, till his shorter, faster orbit took him out of sight, there was no suggestion that the place was harbouring Burnell and his mercenaries.

He gave Molly a call at the lunar base. He quizzed her about the comings and goings at the base.

"No...it's been fairly quiet. What's the problem?"

"I can't work out where Burnell and his associates have got to."

"Has Mr Temple caught up with you?"

"No...why?"

"He says if you don't go earth side for a break, you'll be in breach of international safety standards...He was really het up...I've never seen him like that before."

"What...on the video screen?"

"No...in person."

"Carson Temple was on moon base? Where is he now?"

"Don't know...he said he had some scouting about to do for a customer."

"Is his spaceship still there?"

"No, he left...I know...It's a bit of a mystery to me too."

Cal tried to digest the information. Carson never cared about his continuous on the job space time before. Was he being audited? Maybe he was angered by Cal's private contracts, which was absurd because CTSS got a percentage for doing nothing. It was true; he was flitting about in their spaceship and they deserved compensation, but that was the agreement. Arguments and counterarguments swirled in his head. The man was becoming erratic, swinging from wanting him to take a vacation to doing mindless maintenance tasks and then back to taking time off.

"Listen Molly, I'm going to drop these boosters back at the docking platform and then I'll come to moon base. There are a few things I need to research."

The pert redhead couldn't contain herself any longer. "How did things work out with the heiress...Chloe Talbot?"

"Mm...If anything...worse than last time."

"When you get here, you'll have to tell me about it. Maybe I can give you a couple of pointers." If anything, Molly sounded genuinely sympathetic for their specialist trouble shooter. Her take was that he may have a knack for solving technical problems but the gossip was he was inept in his relationships.

"Yeah...maybe." He was non-committal.

Cal was no longer languid, winding down from the frenetic events of the past week; he was now filled with urgency. Tasks had to be performed. He now had a plan of action.

***

At the platform, while the boosters were removed and taken for restoration, Cal obtained details of Carson's spaceship. He needed to know what his boss was up to. The thought occurred to him that he might be visiting the space station himself to confer with Talbot. Could he be wanting to claim the bonus fee himself? Maybe he had returned to Earth, bypassing the platform. Cal knew it was all guesswork. He needed data. "Maybe he wants to break my contract," he murmured.

His departure was delayed by an Earth Lander docking to unload its passengers, cargo and regular fuel and oxygen loads. From the platform he flew to the moon base. Again, Molly insisted that the Dart go in for diagnostics. Cal settled into the office. The sixth g gravity was a minimal weight on his muscles after a few days of acceleration forces in opposing directions—one direction to gain maximum velocity and the opposite direction to reduce it back to earth orbital speed. He began by writing a belated report on the Pegasus satellite. The reason for its abrupt orbit deterioration was unresolved. Recorded position data from the satellite suggested an unknown sudden impulse causing change of trajectory. Tank pressures and thruster logs indicated no venting or unscheduled ignitions so the force must have come from some other source.

He filed the report with his action and test data detailed. He hated the fact that 'no reason for failure detected' was the conclusion he wrote in cause of incident. You never have no reason so, in reality, he was admitting his failure. It didn't sit well with him. His next investigation involved Carson Temple's current location. In a piece of unethical IT snooping, Cal used Temple's spaceship identifier and radio beacon to view the International Space Authority's tracking record of the craft's course after leaving Earth.

The raw data meant little at a glance and Cal didn't have the inclination to trace figures with a mathematical prediction model. It was tedious to correlate the two and see if there were any anomalies. Instead, he used an algorithm to graphically chart the trajectory over time. The visual was abnormal. His hackles were raised. In a stroke of inspiration, he charted the satellite data. He was astounded. The convergence of the two, the unmistakeable congruence of positions at the critical timeframe when the Pegasus went awry explained a great deal more about the previously unanswered questions concerning the satellite.

Cal was bustling about, conscious he had things to do. He plotted the remaining data. The trip to the platform. It would have coincided with the call for him to rectify what Temple had caused. From there his boss went to moon base. He spent a couple of days there. Cal decided he would talk to Molly about what Carson had been doing during his stay. Then yesterday, Temple made a short trip to the far side of the moon! What was there? His early space training conveyed panoramas of a desolate highly cratered surface. There had been some mining settlements but for some reason nothing ever stuck. Maybe it was the psychology of never seeing the welcoming green and blue tones of mother Earth.

Whatever Carson's purpose for his visit, he was there for only half a day. According to the tracker he had returned to Earth after a very short stay. As soon as possible, he had to visit the lunar coordinates provided by Carson's beacon and find out what was going on. He let Molly know that he planned to take Dart out.

"Not today, you're not," she stated emphatically. Darren said the feed line to your main thrusters from your liquid oxygen had micro-cracking so they're replacing it. They're also doing an atmosphere refit with the CO2 scrubber being exchanged and a changeover compressor for your airlock...so, no go." She grinned at the rhyme.

Cal scrunched his face to one side, slightly perplexed. "Have you heard anything from the returning Interspace ships yet?"

"Yes...One is returning with Talbot. Doctors want him seen to in an Earth hospital...just as a precaution. The other ship is staying to work on a greenhouse extension."

"You sure? The one ship wouldn't have much prefab."

Molly didn't like to be doubted. She gave a stern stare. "I'll bring up the Interspace update..." She punched a key, stroked the screen with her finger a number of times and then, with a note of triumph, read: "The remaining crew will assemble the new sample greenhouse module and then do the preliminary surveying for a habitat extension that will eventually double the growing capacity of Mars Colony."

A casual salute acknowledged Molly's accuracy. "Do we know where they are?"

"You'll have to call the shuttle and find out. They don't have the booster capacity of the Dart and they're lugging a lot more mass. Remember, they left days before you and arrived a couple days after you. So, don't expect them too soon. From what I heard they're pushing the margins of their burns...possibly a couple of days?" her voice inflected upwardly. She was estimating.

Molly kept her eyes on Cal. "And don't expect Chloe to be on board...she stayed back."

"Didn't enter my mind." It surprised him that it hadn't.

"So...tell me what went wrong between you two?"

"What went wrong," he echoed. "I could say her antagonistic father was the problem or the socio-economic disparity between us...but, I guess, in the end it was me. I was seeking approval and when I didn't get it...well, my pride couldn't handle it...I couldn't handle it."

"Wow...so you walked out on her?"

Cal was amazed that she had distilled the tabloid press version, blatant truth from his complication of the encounter.

"I suppose I did."

"You know you can go back...say sorry...swallow your pride." Molly's eye's softened as compassion for him grew.

"Yes...you're right. I need to say sorry. There are a few things I have to find out first...and some things I need to do so that my words aren't empty platitudes."

"What do you mean?"

Cal, for once, didn't shirk the issue. "It's about my faith. I would claim to be a Christian in Christian circles, but I have been a hypocrite and kept it to myself. I mean, you didn't know I was a Christian, did you?"

Molly dropped her eyes. "I sort of did...more because I had some chats with Hayley when she called to contact you sometimes."

He smiled. "That would be right...My sister sharing what's important to her."

Cal excused himself and called his parents. The session was one of apologies for his poor record of keeping in touch and of vaguely reprising some of the less hazardous events. He also spoke of the immense advances in space communities. He promised to return soon and spend some time with the family when he had completed his stint in space. It would be a lengthy break this time. He had a home project in mind. Cal had them transfer the call to Hayley and he learned much about patience and endurance in her quiet acceptance of life's trials. She also asked about Chloe.

"You know...for the first time I'm not going to sweat it. I'll pray and if God wants it for me then it'll happen."

His sister replied with a measure of insight that disconcerted him. "It wouldn't hurt to get Chloe to pray about it as well...you know...so you're on the same page."

"I'm not sure I know how to do that...I mean...do I call and say, I want you to pray about us...it's all a bit confronting."

"Well, somehow you need to get together...She's not a mind reader you know."

***

Cal was frustrated that waiting was his lot. He waited for the Dart to be readied for flight. He waited for news of Talbot's return and he waited for information about Burnell. Another irritant was Carson Temple's complicity in creating high paying emergency work for the company. Nudging the Pegasus satellite out of orbit was unconscionable and triggered questions about motive. Was it about the money? His insistence that Cal attend to the rescue raised his personal speculation that the episode was about misdirection. Maybe Carson wanted him kept busy. If that were the case then his boss was implicated with Haslett Burnell.

Sleep didn't come easily. He downloaded, for the first time, a sermon from the family's home church. Hayley had recommended he listen to Pastor Ron on several occasions and finally he had succumbed to his prodding conscience. The pastor spoke on Hebrews chapter ten. The gist of the sermon was about recognising the two aspects of holiness or sanctification. The first is that holiness is achieved through Christ's sacrifice to enable us to enter the presence of a Holy God. He highlighted what Jesus had done in His sacrificial death contrasting it to the imperfect priesthood. The key verse for this point was verse ten. Jesus was obedient to His father's will... And by that will, we have been made holy through the sacrifice of the body of Jesus Christ once for all.

The next point was the on-going, being made holy, being sanctified, which was the shaping of the Christian into the person he ought to be. Cal recognised now that his fallibility, his short-comings, in no way lessened the effectiveness of the righteousness and salvation achieved for him by Christ. The pastor emphasised verse fourteen which encapsulated masterfully both aspects of the work of Christ. He read it again: For by one sacrifice he has made perfect forever those who are being made holy.

Made perfect while being made holy. Cal thanked God that it was a process. Once the theology had been dealt with the pastor applied the principles. How are you made holy? We act out our faith (a repeated theme in Cal's experience) remembering the position attained for us. We are sprinkled with his blood—forever sanctified, made holy and accepted. God is faithful so we need to encourage each other to respond in kind: Draw near to God (another repeated theme that God had been reminding him about), demonstrate love and good deeds, and meet with other Christians.

Cal thanked God for the relevance of his word over the ages. There was still much to do in his daily walk; it was not a requirement but a response, not an achievement of his faith but an exercise of his faith. Sleep came when he was contemplating getting up and walking to Interspace' offices for news about their CEO.

***

The short hop into lunar orbit and navigating a route that would bring him over the designated coordinates was no trouble for his guidance computer. Cal added a parameter that stipulated a second pass one kilometre removed from the first. He directed his telescopic video camera to record the lunar surface as he traversed. The site would be in penumbra of the prolonged lunar morning and infra-red and radar images might be needed to penetrate the intense, long, black shadows cast by crater walls. His first pass had him riveted for the second. He had glimpsed several large inflated domes of the type Burnell used on Mars. Multi-layer walls ensured temperature retention and cell segmentation was the method for dealing with impact penetration. Cal gathered that the longer-term solution would be to encase the domes with bonded lunar soil of print synthetic shields with polymers and lunar regolith. The complex was three or four times larger and more established than the BSI installation which he saw on Mars. There were solar panels, satellite dishes and pressure spheres of compressed gases. It was clearly Burnell's mode of installing the embryonic beginnings of a more permanent settlement, and Cal had evidence that Temple had visited.

The second pass showed a number of BSI shuttles on an extensive launch pad and some lunar rovers. Instinctively, Cal projected possible landing sites close enough for him to take his compact electric vehicle out to cross the intervening distance. It was a spur of the moment decision and, despite his resolution to not be as impulsive in an already unsafe occupation, he started visualising a 'how do I do this' script in his head.

Of the alternatives offered by the computer, Cal opted for a low angle entry descent behind a large crater. The terrain required some nuanced computer corrections on entry. Though most demanding, the chosen course would bring him within a dozen kilometres of the inflated modules. He confirmed the computer's request to begin course adjustments before he had time to reconsider. His mind operated at another level when imminent challenge arose. Each successive creative brainwave made him smirk. The sheer audacity of what he intended made it worth the risk, and the delicious part was that he would tell no one. It would be his secret epic adventure—a true tall tale that would remain his private delight. There was a perverse pleasure in doing something that was totally the antithesis of his natural inclination to bask in the notoriety.

It was one thing to have the computer perform control manoeuvres in space but Cal was decidedly unnerved, skimming across the craggy lunar surface, having relinquished steering to a stream of digital equations. The retro rockets fired initially in a long burst. He slowed and slowed and the downward arc increased with gravity acceleration. Intermittent pulses of the central gimbal thruster rectified the ship's attitude, then a perfectly timed landing burn brought him to rest.

Outside the Dart, he unfolded the collapsible buggy. The wheels were six segmented rubber arcs which wound outwards to form large broad footprint tyres. Each had individual spokes that locked into place as they rotated out. Six internal titanium spring spars formed central hexagons in each wheel, providing suspension and rigidity at the same time.

Cal drove sedately. He was in no rush. The lunar landscape was more forbidding, more alien even than Mars. The black canopy of space, always present, heightened the feeling of vulnerability. On his way, he recapitulated in numerical steps his makeshift undertaking. The plan was still purely academic. He proposed three assumptions that hinged on human nature. One; that on the far side of the moon no one would secure space shuttles. Number two; generic space suits and uniforms could be found on a shuttle. And third; he would be able to enter and walk around unchallenged since no one would expect outsiders to venture in. Those were the first three steps. After that he would improvise. In generalities he would see who was there, find out what he could learn and get away without being spotted.

Cal rounded a small crater and saw the distant field of solar panels between himself and the interconnected habitat. From the rise a panoramic view informed him that he was in a much larger crater with steep walls rising behind the bulbous domes. To the right he saw the fleet of shuttles that had, most likely, delivered the occupants. He drove down between the rows and parked the buggy amidst the panels. Going on foot with a protracted buoyant gait, he almost hit his helmet on the photovoltaic cells. He had to initiate an unnatural shuffle to prevent his head bobbing into the tilted array. Cal's diagonal course had him dodging through a maze of the closest thing to an outside forest this side of the moon had.

Instinctively, he crouched into a slinking lope as he encroached onto the shuttle landing area. His inept attempt at keeping low in the weak lunar gravity was laughable. Cal went back to shuffling. Unfamiliarity with the access procedure for the BSI shuttles delayed him momentarily. A sprung, pressure catch opened the entry panel. He opened the hatch to the airtight chamber. Once inside he sealed himself in. His angst grew in proportion to the time consumed by the slow pressurisation. Desperately wanting the compression feed to go quickly inadvertently connived to make the time pass slowly. Once in the ship proper, he found an appropriate space suit to wear. He didn't come across a change of clothes. The solution was to wing it wearing the suit on the pretence that he was about to go EVA.

The first glitch in his plan soured his optimism. He would have to return his suit to the Buggy before embarking on his infiltration. From that place to the buggy and back, Cal chanted as he moved, "think, think, think..." on and on as a sort of penance. The ritual may have placated his need for personal recriminations but it was counterproductive in clearing his mind to be prepared for what eventuated.

Inside, helmet under his arm, he rounded a corner and bumped into a woman. She gave him an appreciative gaze. "Where've you been?" she asked in an ambiguous way. Did she know him? Did she wonder about the suit? Or was it playful.

"Outside..." he answered inanely, before adding, "Solar panels..." His thumb made a vague gesture in the direction. He looked at his wrist uncomfortably. There was no timer there. "I better go," he stammered. She smiled and watched him move in the direction she came from. Cal passed through two pressure hatches and started doubting the sanity of his decision. He bypassed a dining module, fearing social interaction. Best to appear to be on a mission.

Cal paused at a juncture of three hatches to determine what lay ahead. One was clearly sleeping quarters but the other extensions were nondescript regarding their purpose. He chose the middle hatch and moved cautiously. It looked like a meeting room and offices. He heard voices and snuck into the first section available. It linked to a second. He hovered in transit between the two to keep his options open. The voices neared and he partially retreated into the adjoining office to see if the first would be entered.

Intuitively, he dropped to the floor and hid around the corner as people began to come into the room he had just vacated.

"I don't think we have a choice." Cal didn't recognise the voice.

"No...you're probably right. We have to get our ships in position first...then make the threat."

That voice; Cal knew that voice. The second continued. "What if he doesn't sign?"

"He will," replied the first. "He would have on Mars if it wasn't for that interfering Dorner. You should have fired him."

"It wouldn't have made any difference...not with his contract and the private work he did. He would have gotten suspicious."

"I thought you were going to delay him?"

"I did...It's just that he's good at what he does. He finished the job much faster than I expected."

Cal fumed. His boss was plotting with Haslet Burnell. Instantly aware that he was missing an opportunity, he got his communicator and started recording.

He tuned in as Burnell explained that with Temple as an independent witness of the transaction the contract sign over would be validated for the courts. No one could prove any collusion.

"That's why I need to get back to Platform. I'm scheduled to meet my ship at Moon Base tomorrow. With my ship coming from Earth there'll be witnesses that I'm away from the action."

"Safety first hey. Why is it I take all the risks?" He sounded resentful.

"Because you have the most to lose...Listen...How are you going to convince Talbot his daughter is under threat?"

"Tell their captain to send in an audio feed...might even fire some shots at the ship if he is obstinate."

"If you kill anyone, I'll deny any knowledge."

"Don't worry...Talbot will sign and the station will be ours. He values his daughter too much."

"Fine...so long as you have everything in hand...Will you get Parsons to take me to the Moon base. I just have to get my things ready."

"Sure...Have a good flight."

Carson Temple left. Burnell made a couple of calls. One was to Parsons to ready a shuttle to ferry Mr Temple back to Moon Base and the other was to a man called Spargo. He was ordered to come to the office with an associate. Cal moved slightly away and saw Burnell's reflection in the darkened window of the second office. The gloom where he hid accentuated the light reflected from the other room.

"What do you want Mr Burnell?"

"Ah, Will...we need to arrange an accidental explosion for Talbot's spacecraft...remotely triggered."

"I thought you wanted him to sign his station over to you?"

"Yes...But after ...after, he will claim coercion. It will go to court...there'll be delays and...well, it'll be messy. With the signed papers and Talbot and his daughter dying in a tragic accident...well, no one to contest the contract."

"So, both the Talbots...and after he's signed. I think we can manage that." He leered. "What do you think Mick?"

"It'll be a breeze."

'The men had all the attributes of henchmen,' thought Cal.

Somehow, he had stumbled into the origin of all the ferment. Cal knew who was involved and what they planned to do. Yet he sat there, crouched foetus like, trapped in the darkened office. Burnell and Spargo talked of an explosion that would leave no evidence. They spoke of the irresistible monopoly they would have with both space stations assisting traffic between Earth, the moon and Mars.

"What about Temple?" grated Spargo.

"He's a powerful ally. Without him ratifying the contract as genuine...as an independent witness...we'd struggle to establish a legitimate claim."

"Can we trust him?"

"He's compromised...He's in as deep as we are. We'll be partners and share the profits."

Spargo grunted as he grudgingly conceded the necessity of an outside entity as part of their cabal.

"But...if you can, you have to eliminate Dorner. He will be trouble if we can't neutralise him."

"It's not that easy with him...You never know where he's going to turn up." Spargo eyeballed his boss. "There might be a way though...sees himself as a bit of a hero...maybe with the right bait..." the words tailed off.

"Spare me the details. Just an accident mind you...Space can be a dangerous place."

***

Spargo and Mick left and Burnell remained. He spent time instructing his lawyers via video-com on a new contract. He explained that since Bailey and Barnett were in custody for their pernicious plot it was necessary to renegotiate transfer of ownership with new witnesses. He concocted a story about the pair intervening in the transaction to try and take control of the space station for themselves. His creative explanations seemed to satisfy his lawyers who were content with the generous remuneration due to them if the transfer succeeded.

Cal was agitated. With Burnell working in the other room, he was unable to do anything to remedy the situation. He glanced at the door of the room he was in and entertained the possibility of crawling out. Passing back the way he had come, undetected, would be difficult. Explaining his hunched sneaking movements would be an almost insurmountable challenge. But he was going to attempt it.

A few isometric exercises had the blood flowing in his muscles and loosened the tightening kinks his prone posture had induced. Cal eased to his knees and made one scuffing movement. A loud scraping noise made him freeze. Burnell had pushed back his chair. Had he heard? The light went off and the door slid closed. He was free to move. A minute or two and he would make his escape.

He retraced his steps. Cal sauntered cautiously through the junction, past the dining area, which was busy with people milling about, and through the two hatches. Almost at the exact same spot he bumped into the same young woman and almost dropped the helmet tucked under his arm. She wrinkled her nose. "Just happened to bump into you again," she commented with lilt of a facetious gurgle. "I was wondering where you had gotten to." She was settling in for a friendly chat. "Where were you?" Anxiety was causing a rush of blood to warm around his neck. He wanted to run. She must have been looking for him. His mind raced. The truth, with a twist, that would be his strategy.

"Oh...er...up with Haslet." Cal motioned his head back in the direction he'd come.

"I hope you didn't call him that to his face...You know how he hates it."

"Old Has..." he grinned. "No...I wouldn't dare."

"What did he want you for?" She looked curiously. He must be someone of note. Few of the plebs ever got to speak with Burnell.

"Ah..." He scanned about to ensure no one was listening. He lowered his voice. "I'm going to find Dorner's ship."

"Do you need company? This place is the worst." She looked at him hopefully.

"Well, I'm just going to check my ship. It won't take long." The pilot insignia on his uniform added weight to his claim.

Her eyes danced briefly. There was promise of a lengthier exchange. She proffered her hand.

"I'm Kristy."

He took her hand. "Cal-vin," he modified abruptly.

"Well...Cal...vin...let me know when you get back."

He smiled and saluted as if he'd been given an order. Then he turned to leave when she spoke inquiringly. "Calvin...I thought I knew all of the pilots...You're new here aren't you?"

"Uh huh...first time here." Cal gave a little wave and walked to the airlock. No more holdups, he decided, and determined that 'Gotta go'...or... 'I've got work to do,' were moderate ripostes that might allow him to escape.

It wasn't necessary to say anything further. His progress went unimpeded. The airlock, the landing pad and the solar panel array were all negotiated without interruption. Clambering in the buggy, Cal's shoulders heaved with relief. He wouldn't relax until he was in orbit. Another problem: twelve kilometres was close for a launch. He would press the computer to calculate the shallowest exit trajectory possible and hope he would avoid discovery.

The journey back in his buggy went without incident. Long dark shadows still featured on the drive as, although the sun was imperceptibly higher—two degrees over the, near four-hour, interval he was away—the slightly increased inclination made little difference.

Preparations were meticulous. Abort procedures were revised. Cal did all that he could to minimise the Dart's visibility at launch. The computer informed him that he was in a margin of increased risk. It ran the pre-flight checklist with incredible speed. An array of check lights flicked on as each test was passed. There was a fifty percent chance that automatic recovery procedures would override the input flight path and reprocess for a calibrated safety margin. His trajectory would then jump to near vertical. That meant all finesse and attempts to be elusive would be lost.

Ensuring he was properly strapped in, he pressed the key response 'yes' to the prompt "Ready to launch?" And 'yes' again when it required "Confirm?" A screen flashed a countdown for the pilot's benefit alone. Engines ignited. The torsion on his body was skewed to a recoil against the almost tangential trajectory. The Vernier thruster was called upon to gimbal its push toward the moon, tilting the remainder of the rear propulsion away from the lunar surface. It was a tussle between the moon's gravity and the minimal vertical vector of thrust. All the while the Dart was hurtling toward the horizon away from the inflatable domes.

The mathematics proved to be precise. Dart took the optimal, concealed, shallow exit route and gained orbit over the visibility curve of the moon. Cal entered the moon base coordinates and punched in an automated landing routine. Information was key to what he would do next.

Peta was in the office. She was a studious, reserved scientist doing a PhD on Lunar geology while doing part time work with CTSS. Peta was highly competent but totally unengaged in the office administration role. It was merely the easiest way to get a permanent residence, one month about, on Earth's satellite. She raised her face as Cal came in.

"Molly didn't know where you went. You know Carson doesn't like you going off like that?"

"Hello to you too, Peta." The desire to tell her that the CEO of CTSS was a conspirator in industrial terrorism was quickly quelled. It served no purpose. Keeping things running normally would mean Carson wouldn't be alerted.

"So, were you on another private jaunt?" It was clear Peta preferred to conform to accepted procedure. He ignored the question.

"Where's Carson?"

"Came in a couple of hours ago...Gone for a sleep rotation. It is night you know."

"Do me a favour...Don't tell Carson I came here. I mean, he wants me to take a vacation."

She rested her chin on two hands supported by elbows. "Do all your admirers yield to your every wish?"

"You know what? Tell him anything you like. Tell him I dropped in, said hi and I left." He walked out.

"Where were you...He'll want to know?"

"Not telling," he called back over his shoulder.

"Where're you going?" she yelled.

"Don't know yet." He was gone before she could continue the long-distance inquisition.

Knowing that Carson preferred the amenities of the residential zone, Cal took advantage of his unit toward the rear of the CTSS offices. He sent messages to Baz, Aldo and Viktor asking them how the Martian holiday was going. He sent a message to James seeking details of Chloe's departure. The note described the possibility that she was still in danger and Burnell was likely to be the source of trouble. If he could send the transponder code for her shuttle it would greatly assist his tracking of the craft; otherwise he would have to hack the space transport authority and that would take more time than he could spare.

By video-com he organised another booster fitting at the docking platform. Giselle was curious. "Another private contract? Carson said not to approve any more."

"Put it on my private tab, then." Then he speculated. "You know that if this was a lucrative contract, I'd be under no obligation to designate a percentage to CTSS?"

"But it's not is it?"

"No...My account will be good for it."

"I'll organise it for you," she allowed. "Just don't tell Carson."

"Not a word..." He mimed sealed lips for the benefit of the video image. "I'll be up in ten hours...I need to grab an hour's sleep." He closed the conversation with appropriate etiquette.

"My fuel bill's going to be a killer this month," he groaned as he went for the shower.

Chapter 16

Two days later Cal was cruising in the Dart. He had recruited Riordan and Tippet from the Space station. Both, upon hearing his story, were keen to team up for the scheme he had outlined. Cal's initial plan was to talk directly to Talbot himself, but the news was that he had been transferred to Earth for medical treatment. His guiding principle when it came to trouble shooting was 'keep it simple'; however, nothing was ever simple in space. On his way he had made numerous calls. Rex and Noel, pilots he'd rescued in the space station and who were still earth-side happily joined in. Molly responded once she understood the gravity of the situation. She had contacts on Moon base that could assist with monitoring any discreet gathering.

James had provided the transponder details he requested with the curt rider, 'don't ask'. So he was now tracking the vessel. By his estimate the Interspace shuttle, moving at a wholly pedestrian pace with Chloe, Aaron, Melanie and a troop of base personnel on board, was still a day away from contact. They were clearly constrained by less extravagant fuel supply compared to what he was accustomed to, and the inertia to overcome of a large mass—both getting up to speed and back to orbit capture.

Once the operation was in full swing, Cal spent some time convincing the other two that they wouldn't intervene in the expected confrontation between Burnell's craft and the Interspace shuttle. The whole scheme was about gathering evidence and only acting at impending disaster to make sure there wasn't an avoidable, catastrophic loss of lives. He assured them that there would be action later. They had latched onto a BSI shuttle hours ago and there was no indication that their presence had been registered. Cal and Tippet, with a crew from the space station had worked feverishly to create a broad expandable wedge, coated with radar absorbing paint. Using Dart's two forward robotic arms with clamps, the device was extended in front of Dart. It deflected almost all the radar pulses in a non-detectable direction with the paint hopefully absorbing the rest. With it deployed, they had edged near to the shuttle. A tiny camera mounted at the front was the only method of tracking the ship.

A receiver at the rear of the craft collected relayed transponder signals from the Interspace Shuttle to the space station and then back to the Dart. The Dart was, in that sense, invisible in only one direction.

"Will you explain this again?" asked Tippet. "You want Burnell's crew to threaten them...you want Talbot to sign the contract and you want them to attempt to murder Talbot and his daughter?"

"That about sums it up." Cal gave him a cheesy smile.

"Why?"

"Well, on Mars...his plans were frustrated...Talbot hasn't pressed charges...thinks he can negotiate a cooperation with the man. So Burnell is free to try again."

"So, no prosecution is going to proceed if the alleged key victim isn't a complainant," inserted Riordan.

"What about the Martian community? They were all held hostage."

"As far as I could tell only James and Kelly, and maybe a few others, could ID him and then he could contend that he had nothing to do with the takeover...He could claim that it was renegade members of his crew."

"What you're saying is that the charges might not stick," Riordan interpreted again.

***

After several hours Cal eased the Dart crablike to be perpendicular to the BSI ship's course. He explained that hasty course corrections would make remaining radar-invisible very difficult. They had to be prepared to slow and reverse direction synchronised with the other ship, which itself would try and match the Interspace ship.

"Won't Captain Ralston pick up the Dart on his radar?" This time it was Riordan joining the dots.

"Can't be helped. Hopefully he'll guess its two BSI ships."

Like a choreographed ballet, both craft converging with the Interspace shuttle while swinging about, slowing down and then reversing their thrust to match the approaching shuttle. Hibbs, the designer on Moon base, connected on the video-com. The news was pivotal. Talbot had arrived on the moon for a mysterious meeting in the convention centre of the hotel complex. There were other industry chiefs seen coming to stay. It was clear that the threat of violence against Chloe and the crew had been communicated. According to Hibbs, who had also been briefed by Cal, Talbot seemed to be waiting in his office for evidence of his daughter's safety.

Now there were three ships. The BSI and Interspace shuttles alongside each other and the Dart behind, probably invisible to both and an item of bewilderment to the radar operator in the ship piloted by Ralston. The three in Dart could only imagine the flurry of radio calls, the threats, the instructions about what they should say and the challenge by Ralston. When a suited astronaut clambered outside the BSI with a high-powered automatic rifle, tensions mounted in the Dart. This was the face off, the confirmation that deadly damage could be delivered. It seemed primitive but it would be effective. He fired once but away from the spacecraft.

This was insanity, thought Cal. Riordan was even more upset.

"We've got to stop him. A few stray bullets and they'll be breached."

Cal felt sick. He hadn't taken precautions for actual gunfire. His voice quivered. "He can't see us now but if we go closer, he'll turn that weapon on us. Then we become an example of what they could do to the shuttle."

"So, I suppose we watch them kill all those people?" growled Riordan.

"They'd be mad...Talbot wouldn't sign until he's sure his daughter is safe."

"So why are we here again?"

"We're filming," answered Cal.

The gunman remained outside for another half hour and then returned inside. There was palpable relief in the Dart.

"What do you think is happening now?" queried Tippet.

"My guess is Ralston has confirmed that they could be destroyed...and Talbot has probably promised to sign when everyone is safe.

When they eventually neared the space station, Ralston took his ship into dock. The BSI ship veered away and matched the space station's orbit around the Earth. Dart was like a shadow behind the belligerent adversary. It was a waiting game now. Would Talbot sign? Without warning the predatory craft sped away. That action told them what had happened before Hibbs had a chance to contact them and confirm; Talbot had signed the transfer papers. Cal waited till the shuttle crew had time to disembark before he too dashed off. This time it was to stow the Dart on one of the platform's exterior docking points, have the boosters removed and prepare for the next stage in a ploy to end an insufferable conflict.

***

Three men floated in a private suite in one of the accommodation modules on The Platform. They were drinking coffee.

"How can you be so sure that Burnell wants to blow up a lander?" It was Tippet. He was fidgeting with the handle of his sealed, squishy, drink dispenser.

"I heard him say it."

"But he's got what he wants. The station has been signed over to Burnell Space Industries."

"He's afraid of a legal challenge. He's back on the moon ready to make his claim with a witnessed document, lawyers present...Hibbs said it was as though Talbot was warned that if he didn't act convincingly his daughter would reap the consequences."

"So...explain to me again what you propose to do?" Riordan asked as he adjusted his position too quickly and hit his head. "Ahh...I hate weightlessness!"

"So do I." muttered Cal considering an oblique reference.

"You? ... You live out here," objected the programmer. "Anyway...what's the plan?"

Again, Cal reviewed his idea. The other two kept shaking heads as if it was inconceivable that matters would sink to such a low. Cal ignored their protestations. "The main thing is to get moving the moment the lander, booked by Interspace, comes in. I need to get to it before Burnell's men and then divert the party from boarding."

"We've identified some of Burnell's disreputable associates." Tippet stuck his empty drink dispenser into an automatic flushing device which purged it with scalding water through input-output pipes connected to one-way valves, readying it for the next brew. "I've organised some mechanics to arrange a slight mishap to their shuttle...call them in for a meeting. It should keep them out of your hair for ... maybe half an hour."

Cal pulled a face. "Half an hour...that's barely enough...Not much leeway if anything goes wrong."

Tippet cinched one side of his face so that one eye closed. "I suppose I could try and delay them if you need time to get out. I'll buzz you when they leave the meeting and run interference for you...but I don't know how much extra time you'll get."

***

The earth-lander came in from Earth. Cal floated in the shadows. Several groups disembarked. A tour group to the moon gaggled excitedly at the novel sensation of weightlessness. A handful of construction engineers were heading to the Interspace space station to work on the secondary torus expansion. Their exit was that of experienced sojourners to space—reserved, going through the routine of transport exchange. Some rotating staff of the various bases also floated by; some collecting substantial baggage. Lastly, the crew exited.

Cal, wearing a platform maintenance and outfitter's coveralls and carrying a small tool kit, quickly boarded. He knew that some other staff would be preparing the offloading of the regular fuel cargo, food stuffs and assorted gear. Then used and unwanted equipment and garbage was returned to Earth. Others would board to do minor refreshing of the seating, cleaning and preparation for the return flight. The major refurbishment would be done on Earth Base, along with sufficient fuel for a return flight.

Rapidly grasping a control microprocessor from inside his coveralls he placed it on the console with a piece of tape. He removed the control panel cover with his electric screwdriver and hastily began intercepting the various control prompts that the computer required to commence its return journey. Each intersected circuit represented a button pushed, a switch turned or a lever engaged. They signalled to the computer that all was set for the programmed pilot to land the craft. He madly connected each link to the microprocessor and from there bypassed each input directly to the function. He tried to keep a steady hand, aware that time was ticking by.

It was essential to run a test simulation otherwise, if something didn't work, the craft would remain in limbo awaiting command confirmation. He opened his computer program that provided the remote interface. The simulation circuit was engaged allowing the computer to register each response as if it was receiving a flight instruction. He got to the re-entry ignition and, nothing. He punched the key on his computer again as it requested the okay to proceed. Still nothing. A quick search for the wire he sought from his circuit diagram led to lifting the processor out. The wire had slipped out of its linking sleeve. It must have happened when he jiggled it into the narrow recess. He reattached it and cramped it with his pliers.

The program required him to restart the simulation. Now he was jittery. His communicator buzzed. They were coming. He looked at his timer. Twenty-five minutes! He needed more time. His responses to the flight computer were almost instantaneous. The re-entry response was acknowledged. The remainder of the simulation didn't require inputs so Cal cancelled and exited. His hands darted about replacing the panel and reinserting the screws. The hatch wheel began to turn. Someone was coming in. One more screw to tighten, he rushed desperate not to be caught.

It was Spargo himself, moving furtively into the flight deck. Cal had tucked himself into the pilot's Baggage lockers. The slight aperture left in the locker door revealed Spargo's deadly antics. He glanced around guiltily and withdrew a package from a carry bag. It had electronics wired to it. He switched it on and then attached it under the pilot's seat with a hooked strap. Cal heard a voice at the hatch to hurry. His accomplice was getting nervous. The job was done. Spargo left after hardly a minute, leaving behind enough plastic explosives to obliterate the lander.

Cal crawled out of the confined space and floated to the hatch when more people started coming in. He couldn't hide; 'act natural', he told himself. He almost bumped into two maintenance workers floating in.

"What are you doing here?" A woman asked.

"Er...I just ran a flight simulation...it all checked out."

"Oh..." she clutched a small device hanging around her neck. "It's not on my job list. Why don't they tell us about this stuff...Will you be much longer?"

Cal smiled. "No, I'm finished. I'll get out of your way."

A third person came in as he was leaving. He bustled past and called out, "It's only a minor isn't it."

Cal heard as he retreated; "Yeah, someone scheduled a simulation and didn't tell us."

The three men congregated back in the private suite. Tippet and Riordan were laughing.

"Well, you might think it was funny, but I was panicking in there. The simulation was still running and I had to put the board together still."

"You should have seen it though. I was asking him about his ship and he was telling me he had urgent business...so Michael here comes bowling up the tunnel saying move, I'm gonna chuck. And I started shoving the guy back all hysterical like telling him to move 'cos I didn't want to be cleaning sick off me...And he was more horrified than I was. He started flailing his arms as if he could swim in the air...so I gave him a helpful shove. We kept going till Michael reached the bathroom." He chuckled some more. "I mean, I don't blame him. Ever seen vomit in zero g? It's like a cannon ball of slush."

Cal sniggered at the simile. "All right, all right...very picturesque. But we need to get ready for stage two."

Cal called Giselle. He wanted confirmation of the departure time for the lander booked by Interspace.

"Boarding is in an hour," she informed him. But she had no knowledge of his purpose and that elicited her next question. "Is this about Chloe? Are you sweet on her?"

What could he say? The other two were looking at him expectantly. "Yeah...something like that." 'Was it about Chloe?' he asked himself.

"Have you got that pistol" Cal asked.

Tippet nodded. "It hasn't got a firing pin you know."

"Good...then it won't go off."

***

All three edged near the passenger entry tube. They all wore flash masks.

"We're late, they're readying for secure hatches," breathed Cal. "We go now."

Like a tiny school of three fish they spanned the distance to the open hatch. Cal went in first. He sucked in a big breath to deliver his malicious threats. With gun raised and waving an arm about like some demented homicidal maniac he let out a guttural shout.

"Everybody...out the rear hatch. Do as you're told and nobody'll get hurt."

Riordan went to the back looking uncomfortable brandishing a knife borrowed from the galley. He opened the rear hatch and started leading the first few occupants out and gently nudging them down into an equipment store.

"What's the meaning of this?" protested Talbot. "Is Burnell behind this? That deceitful reprobate."

Cal couldn't believe that even in a crisis Gardiner sounded articulate."

"Move...for your own safety," barked Cal as menacingly as he could. "All of you!" He waved the gun toward Chloe, who had not moved.

Tippet was herding them down toward the back. Talbot reached a hand out to his daughter. "Come on Chloe...before this madman shoots that thing."

"Yes Dad." There was an inscrutable look, a crinkled eye stare as she rose. It was all going too slowly for Cal. They would be discovered soon and it would all be for naught.

"Move!" he shouted again, and shoved Talbot toward the back.

"Cal?" intoned Chloe softly. Her eyes, as she gazed into his, seemed to flicker recognition.

"Move lady...before you get hurt," he growled, averting his eyes.

With gentle pressure, Tippet floated Chloe toward the rear hatch where her father was waiting. She kept looking back as she drifted.

"You won't get away with this you know." Talbot shook his head with disbelief. He ushered Chloe through the hatch with a guiding push. Cal suddenly felt like the villain. Maybe there could have been another way to construct a hijack which wouldn't alert anyone on the platform. They certainly couldn't have marched everyone off back into the waiting area. It had to appear like everyone was still on board.

Cal moved onto the flight deck. "Gentlemen, I'm taking control of your ship." He pointed the pistol at the pilots.

"You're stealing a lander?" The first pilot couldn't conceal a smirk. He knew it was programmed to land at Earth Base.

"That's the plan...You need to go out the rear hatch to the equipment store."

"Why don't we just go into the terminal," asked the second pilot.

"I guess it's because I don't want you to tell the authorities..." Cal truncated his explanation. It dawned on him that desperate criminals don't usually take time to explain to their victims what they're about. "Just get out the back," he snarled.

They reacted to his vehemence, un-belting and planing, unencumbered, out the back, being watched by Jake Tippet. After sealing the lander, Cal trailed them closely, brandishing the impotent weapon. He followed them to the equipment store and locked the door behind them. Then as covertly as possible the three unmasked, donned maintenance coveralls and drifted, engaged in vacuous conversation, back to the suite. Rapidly, Cal opened the remote program and worked his way through the 'if-then' intersections of the launch routine.

'Initialise automated return program?'

'Yes.' Cal input by pressing the 'Y' key, because that was the way he wrote the script.

'Crew and passengers ready to proceed?"

'Yes.'

'Exit Base?'

'Yes.' With a feed from the camera monitoring the launch airlock they saw the lander transition into the airlock. The procedure was automated by the platform computer communicating with the lander. The ship, unmanned, went into free space.

'Proceed to re-entry orbit?'

'Yes.' They were away.

The three plotters waited as the craft allowed its computer to sift through its speed, altitude and position data and then cold gas pulse and short course correction burn to put it in optimal re-entry orbit. They learned that Spargo and his offsider had already departed. It made everything so much simpler. Cal knew it was natural for them to flee but he had a niggling fear that they would stay and then he'd have to confront them and concoct some accusation against them that would make them go. If they stayed, they would know that everyone survived.

Several coffees were consumed. Jake went for a floating circuit around to ease the tension. He came back panting. They've discovered your little prison and they're looking for something to cut that lock."

Cal checked the readouts. "We've got about fifteen minutes. Let's make ourselves scarce."

Trying to hustle and look laidback at the same time as they went to the Dart was an exercise in containment. The fifteen minutes was the deadline for the re-entry response. If they missed it they would have to wait another ninety minutes and Burnell's men would get suspicious.

Scrambling into the Dart through the airlock meld had Cal shouting instructions.

"Jake, secure the airlock and put on your restraints. Mike, strap up and call Giselle, tell her we are required urgently." He was securing his harness at the same time and then returned his attention to his mediator program. Manually, after receiving Jake's report that the hatch was sealed and seeing confirmation on his status display, Cal moved Dart away from the platform. His haste might earn him a reprimand from Platform Control, he thought, but it wouldn't be his first.

Dart was soon plunging after the lander. He wouldn't have to rely on satellite relay for his remote inputs. Almost to the second the prompt arrived: 'Commence re-entry ignition?' This was it. He hesitated. It had to work. He pressed 'Y'. The lander, which was visible in the distance, fired its rockets. Re-entry had begun.

Cal focussed his telescopic camera on the diminishing image. He enlarged it as it receded. All was going normally. Could the bomb fail? Could the whole imbroglio have such a prosaic conclusion? He was just about to comment that they had failed in nailing Burnell when a brilliant flash blossomed where the lander had been centre screen. A silent annihilation. Several seconds passed before the Dart was perturbed slightly by the shockwave. With no atmosphere it was the spreading ripple of heat, light energy that nudged her. Charged particles and combustion gases had negligible effect many seconds later. The debris from the explosion scattered, but most pieces were caught up in the gravity well of Earth failing to break the shackles and in precise mathematical parabolas fell back to be incinerated in the atmosphere.

***

There was stunned silence in the Dart.

"No bang. I always tell my son in space movies; there should be no bang." Jake's head oscillated minutely from one side to the other as if shaking his brain would somehow alleviate the appalling reality of what had happened.

"You just saved nineteen lives, Cal," observed Riordan.

"No...no, I risked nineteen lives. I could have told them...could have removed the bomb...could have prevented the loss of an Earth Lander...but I didn't."

"That's because we know Burnell wouldn't quit. He has to be exposed," Tippet argued. "You did the right thing." He patted Cal on the shoulder.

Chapter 17

Cal returned to Moon Base and deposited his two accomplices. The path ahead was for them to return to the Platform on an Interspace ferry and accompany the Talbots to Earth. It would be up to them to unravel the story that Burnell sought to claim the space station and his co-conspirators would come out and support him. Cal would send them the video evidence of being under duress to sign and it would be important to time Gardiner Talbot's reappearance strategically when they claimed he was killed.

At the conclusion of his short stop at the Moon Base compiling all the evidence and sending it, Cal headed home. Upon reaching the docking platform he didn't even leave the Dart. It was refuelled for the return that required a propulsive descent. The predominantly blue white planet looked inviting. He took his spaceship down to the life friendly environment aware that its jealous gravity would pummel his ill-prepared body.

***

Cal was home. His sister and parents were overjoyed. Having endured his lengthy absences, the short excursions he took to comfort his body were minor inconveniences for them. Apologetically, he went to the pool to ease the drag on his body and develop his strength and fitness at the same time. Sometimes, when Hayley was up to it, he would take her swimming. And if he wasn't exercising or sleeping, he was reading his Bible and working in the workshop. On Sundays, he started going to church. He told his mother that Hayley was an unintentional second conscience, and certain other people contributed some painful truths about himself—intentionally.

Three days after the reported explosion of an Earth Lander, with authorities not releasing any details of the victims—mainly because they were made aware of the plot—Haslet Burnell claimed ownership of the Interspace station. He said in a news bulletin that it was difficult for him to make the announcement because, according to information he'd received, Gardiner and Chloe Talbot were among the victims of the terrible tragedy. In very short time, Talbot had contacted news agencies and informed them he was very much alive and was handing over evidence that Haslet Burnell and Carson Temple, with others, conspired to blow up the transport he was booked on to return to Earth. He also charged that Burnell had obtained the contract signatures by coercion with threats of violence, all of which could be substantiated.

On the third Sunday back, Cal heard the pastor preach on the Christ of Contrasts. He pointed out that Jesus was: God and Man— Son of God and Son of Man, The Servant King, the Lion and the Lamb, Sinless and Made Sin, the Judge and the Condemned, the High Priest and the Sacrifice, The Beginning and the End. Every one of these was an essential part of Calvary, of His work on the cross. The application was described by three simple points:

We have become free (from sin) to become slaves of God.

If we want to be great...serve...be humble.

If you want to live ... die to self.

Cal decided it was another beginning for him.

***

Although Haslet Burnell faced court and would most likely receive a long detention sentence, Gardiner Talbot visited him and expressed his forgiveness. And as a merciful gesture to Burnell and his employees, he purchased the smaller space station and planned to have it towed to Mars orbit. It would provide a much larger platform for monitoring the developing planet and a staging point for the increasing traffic of launchings and landings. Interspace's generosity meant that Burnell Space Industries would be able to pay out its workers. Many would be reemployed by Interspace and be involved in the rapid growth of the Mars community.

Carson Temple was also initially indicted for malicious damage for profit and was on bail. A conspiracy charge was pending but he would probably be given a lesser sentence since his collusion could not be directly tied to hostage taking, firing on passengers of a space vehicle or attempted mass murder and destruction of an Earth Lander. Farley, his brother, took control of the company at his brother's behest.

***

Chloe called the moon CTSS office and was told by Klaus that Cal was earth side. He suggested she go to the offices on Earth. At the Earth office, Farley told her personally that Cal had resigned and that he was still trying to persuade his best operative to come back after a lengthy, well deserved break. She was there in the office when federal police came in and his brother, Carson, was taken into custody for the additional charge of conspiracy to pirate capital assets from Interspace. His bail was revoked. Burnell had spilled the beans.

Provided with his home address, Chloe organised a visit. Mrs Dorner greeted Chloe and directed her to her son. Chloe found Cal in a workshop at the rear of the family home, working on fine mechanical instrumentation and micro-circuitry. He was working on a project inspired by his close examination of Interspace humanoid robots. The task was creating mechanical exo-legs for Hayley. Chloe put her arms around his neck as he sat at the bench.

"Hello Chloe."

"You don't seem surprised to see me."

Cal looked up over his shoulder at her and then flicked his eyes toward an overhead screen. He had seen her coming. "Oh..."

Her words then came in a torrent. It had been a much-rehearsed apology. "We were wrong in thinking you don't have a firm foundation...Cal, you're not weightless...you've got substance...and...if anything...my dad and I were fooling ourselves...thinking we could sit in judgement on you...or anyone...we were just like the Pharisees—the people Jesus condemned."

Cal stopped working and he looked up at her. "I appreciate what you're saying...but...well, I don't want you to go against your dad. He's the one who has decided I'm superficial...and, he was right."

Hayley, who had heard the last of the conversation from the open doorway, interrupted. "Cal...will you stop sulking and tell Chloe how you really feel?"

He spun around on the swivelling chair and was about to growl at his sister. However, his legs unbalanced Chloe and she ended up in his lap.

"Sorry...I..." He didn't finish. Chloe wrapped her arms around his neck.

"I'm not complaining," she said chuckling.

Cal put his arms around her and looked lovingly into her eyes. "I guess I'm going to have to talk with your dad again...see if I can win him over."

"That won't be necessary." It was Gardiner Talbot standing at the entry. "Cal, Chloe is right. I owe you an apology. I have been a self-righteous prig. I'm sorry for the terrible way I have treated you. I think I resented your popularity, your success and...I am so thankful for what you've done for us...despite how ungrateful and critical I've been."

"What I've done?"

Chloe spoke. "Calvin Dorner, hijacker...a mask couldn't hide those kind eyes. I knew almost straight away something was wrong...and when I saw your eyes...well, I knew it was you, and I guessed it was another one of your crazy plans."

Cal felt uncomfortable addressing the great man with his daughter ensconced on his knee. "You don't have to..." he began but Gardiner cut him off.

"Yes I do...and more than that...I'm asking for your forgiveness. While I've been looking for splinters, I've missed the beam in my own eye."

Cal averred that he needed to apologise too. He had treated Chloe badly.

They all went into the house where Gardiner related further episodes he had gleaned in an unlikely, convoluted plot. The tales went on while afternoon tea was served. He spoke of mercenaries who had told of a crazy man smashing into shuttles, crashing into a bus and stealing another one. Of a mysterious source who had infiltrated a secret lunar base to record the plotters and an unidentified craft shadowing and filming the encounter with Burnell's thugs.

Cal kept trying to end the stories, unwilling for his parents to hear of events that would only make them worry. His tense expression and look of concern in his eyes had Chloe intervening.

"Well, when we find that amazing Good Samaritan, we'll certainly tell him how grateful we are won't we Dad?"

Her steady gaze in his direction took a second to register. "Ah...yes...we will. We certainly are grateful?" Only Hayley took in the subtle accord which portrayed an unknown hero.

"I'm sure he'll say he was only doing his job," she said.

"I'm sure," concurred Cal.

***

It was meant to be a small dinner party but somehow Gardiner Talbot had managed to get many of the Space station crew, who had worked with Cal, to attend at his opulent home. James and Kelly were also there along with Cal's family. The occasion was Cal and Chloe's engagement. Everyone sat around the large mahogany dining table. Privately, Chloe's father apologised again for past misdemeanours and said he had no qualms in wishing the couple a blessed and faithful union.

Though in his speech, when toasts were being made, Gardiner attempted once more to entice Cal and his daughter to work for Interspace; nevertheless, he said he admired his future son in law for setting up his own IT firm with Chloe. He added that he hoped the new company would be happy to accept work from Interspace from time to time and he finished by thanking Cal for inspiring a new line of work for his corporation. "...something Cal had started that we have refined with considerable effort and man hours from our talented engineers. And this is the result..." He indicated to the doorway. There stood Hayley in a pantsuit that concealed a streamlined, muscle sensing version of his robotic exo-leg creation. His sister walked with an almost natural gait. The servo motors did little more than murmur quietly. The guests broke into applause. Cal's parents were tearful.

Hayley walked up to the couple, who rose from their seats. After hugging her brother, she embraced Chloe. "Welcome to the family," she whispered.

"Well, now you won't need a wheelchair as our maid of honour." Hayley's eyes glistened and they hugged again.
