Recruitement
April, 2024
There'll be more. Maybe. If anyone wants in on the crew....
________________________________
--m(^0^)m-- Wot, no sig?
April, 2024
Quote:4.35 kilometres an hour.
That's what the anemometer read. The display flashed yellow, projected on top of the hellish vista beyond the transparent carbon of his helmet bubble.
"Yume', It's getting a bit blowey out here," he said.
"We've another half hour until the front arrives," the voice in his earpiece answered. "At least, that's what TokyoMet are saying."
Yumeko Hino, pilot of Ball One. Loser in the name lottery and forever annoyed about it.
"We'll Pull it when it starts getting above 5."
Four kilometres an hour at near a hundred atmospheres was already enough to start rolling pebbles along the surface. He trudged on, barely aware of the crunching pebbles under his boots. There were no shadows. There was no sunshine overhead to cast them.
It was technically night on Venus. It was still a balmy 735K outside - according to his helmet - hot enough that the clouds themselves were glowing a sickly orange. The closed in from above, pressing him into the seared rock surface.
He didn't bother to take a look around to appreciate the view. Roasted rocks, scorched stone, blasted boulders - it all looked the same. It was hell. It was his job.
Markas worked for the terraforming project. He lead one of the maintenance teams responsible for making sure the city's moorings didn't break. It was an utterly thankless job, taken only by those who found a thrill in being somewhere so utterly inhospitable to human life.
An unprotected human could survive for maybe thirty seconds in vacuum - up to a minute if he or she was lucky. On the Venusian surface - if his suit failed - he'd have mere moments to choose between being crushed entirely or being flash-roasted. His pressure-hardsuit weighed over a ton. It made him look like a dirty red Michelin man, sealed spherical joints keeping the hell outside at bay while still allowing him to move. Power assistance made it possible to walk. Heatsinks and heat-pumps kept the temperature inside at a balmy 33 degrees.
For the two days the batteries would hold out. Then the wearer got a chance to slow-cook.
Another voice crackled in his ear. "Skippy's done at beta-3-9. Skippy ready for pickup."
"There in five, Skippy."
Kay Sera. Pilot of Ball Two. Had the sense to choose his own name. Skippy had no such luck. His name had been earned.
"Five what, hours?"
"Wasn't my fault Skippy."
"Yeah, I know. Shelter in place. But I ain't staying out here all night." He paused. "Well, you know what I mean,"
"Yeah, I gotcha. Five minutes, when I finish this accumulator fin."
"Roger, roger,"
Markas arrived at his destination - a corroded lump of metal bolted hard to the ground. It'd once been shining alloy, but a year under the atmosphere of Venus had taken its toll. A mixture of carbon dioxide, sulphur dioxide and searing heat had grown a thick case of brown corrosion on the seismograph. Only a single aerial and some straighter than natural edges differentiated it from the boulders strewn around.
"I'm here. Alpha-2-4. "
"Markas, TokyoMet revised their forceast. The front'll be here inside twenty minutes. "
"Shit. Copy that Yume'." He growled under his breath. "Remind me to kick JD's ass for taking today off."
"Hey. Look at it this way. More kudos for us."
He grumbled to himself, then clicked a switch inside his right manipulator that turned up the air-conditioning on his face, to keep the sweat off.
The replacement seismograph strapped to his hardsuit back had already begun to tarnish across its polished surface. He crouched down, lowering it to the ground. The breeze pressed against his armour, a thousand hands trying to turtle him over onto his side.
Getting back to his feet would be a real pain in the ass in such a bulky outfit. Just walking upright was a challenge. A drill strapped to his hip allowed him to crank down the bolts to lock it solidly into place on the rock. Three kicks made sure it was solidly fixed down.
"Yume, check the new box."
"It's transmitting," she answered. "Good signal. Give it another kick."
The shock of it rattled through his suit, strangely distant from his body yet still shockingly loud in his ears.
"Get it?"
"Got it."
"Great. Now come on in and get me up to that strain gauge."
"There in thirty!"
Twenty seconds later, he was pinned in place by a pair of stark spotlights. Filters on his visor automatically adjusted for the change in illumination, bringing the spherical craft behind into view. A single circular porthole in the centre of the sphere allowed him to see Yume inside, brushing purple hair off her face as she guided the craft down to meet him. A short crane jib was mounted on the top of the Ball, two smaller grabbling arms augmenting it from beneath the pilot's porthole. Crash frames mounted the thrusters and emergency equipment allowing for a rapid ascent.
It floated above him, hovering on thruster power alone. A specialise lock dropped from the crane-jib on a carbon cable.
"Hands up, Markas,"
He reached up, locking his manipulator onto the . heavy-duty latches engaging with a solid snap.
"Good to go," he broadcast.
"Alley-oop!"
He was hauled into the air by roaring thrusters, leaving the blasted desert behind. Above, loomed the tether itself, half-slack and stretching away up into the clouds.
The tether was formed from hundreds of thousands of heatpipe elements, loosely bound together into a cable that was superstrong, and capable of transmitting megawatts of heat and electricity. It was anchored into solid rock, pilings driving down over a hundred metres. The tether itself was fixed to the anchor by a flexible coupling, allowing for the natural drift of the city far above. High above, through the clouds, it met the city's rock base. It was one of a dozen such cables holding Crystal Tokyo in position.
All this work was to monitor the stress on the cable. Seismographs monitored the ground under the anchor. Strain gauges reported the tension in the cables. It all kept the city from drifting in the upper winds, monitored and controlled by redundant computers to keep the cables from being overloaded.
It was a monument of engineering genius. It lay beneath the notice and concern of all except those who had to work on it.
It was enough to make a man feel unappreciated.
"Markas," said Yumeko. "I've got a message coming through for you from head office."
He braced himself for impact. "Let me have it."
"They want to see you at head office ASAP."
"Anything else?"
"That's everything." She answered. He could hear her working switches in the cockpit. "Just orders go to head office."
He took a deep breath, looking down at the tether beneath him.
"When HO gets enigmatic. I get worried."
-------
Head Office was based in the old part of the city, in the lunar base. The lobby walls were cut from stone, then panelled with plaster and painted a pale white. A few green plants making the best of the flourescent light helped kept everything feeling far more spacious than it was.
Paintings of the city amidst arcadian surroundings reminded everyone what they were aiming for, far in the future. A pastel-coloured sofa gave visitors somewhere to sit and wait. A heavy fire-door locked behind him as he stepped inside, appreciating the cold air blowing from the overhead ventilation.
He let himself soak in it for a few seconds before finally revealing his presence to the secretary behind the desk.
"So, what's so urgent that I had to come straight here without taking a shower."
The secretary raised his head just barely above the top of his computer monitor. A single red pen indicated towards the Director's office.
"She's from Great Justice. Here to speak with you."
It was clear by his tone that he'd already shared that scandalous fact with his entire social networks.
"Oh boy."
He felt himself stiffen just a little.
"Yeah man. She took the Director's office too."
He looked at the secret behind the desk, the man more interested in the karma pouring in to his computer monitor than himself. Markas walked up to the door, braced himself for what promised to be an interesting experience, then knocked on the door.
"Come in."
It wasn't the director's voice. Her accent was wrong. He opened the door - hinge squeaking as it usually did - and stepped inside. Behind the Director's desk was a woman who wasn't the Director. His first impression of her was that her eyes were made of glass. There was something .... offputting about how they seemed to stare right through him. She was short, and almost young enough to be a teenager, with perfectly straight dark hair hanging down behind her head. A.I, he guessed. She sat far too rigid. She wore the standard Great Justice staff uniform - conspicuously absent rank insignia or an identifying name.
"Please, take a seat," she offered, with an open hand towards the single chair that'd been set up for his benefit. He looked at her for a moment.
"What's this about?" he asked, giving her a dubious look, before deciding it'd be rude not to sit.
" I'm a Troubleshooter from Great Justice, and I'm here to offer you a job."
He took a sharp breath in through his mouth. Troubleshooters came with a certain reputation.
"So, how do I know you're the real thing?" he asked fighting to keep his voice even. "How do I know you're not some imposter trying to swindle me?"
She didn't even blink. Her face remain doll-like and impassive. She reached in to her breast pocket, removing a small square of metal. Still looking right through him, she placed it on the polished desktop and slid it towards him.
"This card will let you get in contact with the Troubleshooter actually leading the mission. It includes a handle she will answer to, and a one-time code. "
He picked it up, turning it over in his fingers.. It was cold and metallic, about the size of a credit card. The details were embossed into it,
"So, why me?"
He was, after all, nobody really special in the grand scheme of things. No military skills or experience. His sole contribution to GJ had been the Crystal Osaka wreck survey - and even then he was as just one suit-driver in a much larger team.
"I've been looking at your reading materials. If I told you this was the sort of mission that involves special circumstances, what'd you say to that?"
"I'd ask what the fuck you want with a goddamned terraforming maintenance team."
"I can't tell you that unless you take the job. Classified. "
A small fire of anger lit somewhere deep inside.
"You want me to go in blind?"
"You have to. You've got skills Great Justice needs."
Her voice was still calm and mild - more like a bored telephone cold-caller than anything especially dangerous. That answer led to one obvious question.
"And if I find I don't like the job after I agree?"
She took a breath, looking momentarily disappointed.
"We'll cross that bridge if we come to it. The Classified Information Order applies. "
The threat was there. Calmly made. He knew enough about the CIO to know that it basically allowed Great Justice to do what it thought was necessary to keep the secret. He felt his body go cold.
"That's a bit of a Catch 22, isn't it?"
"It is," she confirmed. "We won't be asking you to bomb a submarine, or do anything 'messy' like that, that I can tell you. It's not a military mission, just something that's best left unacknowledged by all involved - an elephant in the room that somebody has to quietly sneak outside while everyone decides not to look."
She paused for a moment. Part of his mind was almost tempted by it anyway, if only to do something really exciting. The rest of him was happily kicking that part with what he knew of Troubleshooter reputations.
He looked down at the metal card for a second, before returning his gaze to the woman behind the desk. His mind was steadily starting to catch up with what she was telling him
"Submarine?"He questioned. "So it's under water?"
"I'm looking for people used to working under pressure."
She evaded giving the direct answer, but the implications were clear
"Deep water?"
No response from the Troubleshooter. Her expression remained Impassive.
"Europa?"
No response from the Troubleshooter. But it made logical sense to Markas. It had to be Europa. He turned the card over in his fingers, aware of the shitstorm that'd happen if somebody was caught doing dirty deeds on Europa.
"I assume you want my team was well?"
"Yes. Ideally. "
He relaxed back against the backrest of the chair, exhaling a soft sigh. "I'll discuss it with them, then if we go for it, get in touch with this card."
"We're on a short schedule. I'll need and answer in five days."
"You'll have it," he said. He was certain of that at least.
"If that is all," she said.
"Yeah," he nodded. "All I can think of right now. I'll be in touch"
"We look forward to it."
He stood up, adjusting his jacket. She was still watching him with glass eyes as he left. He crossed the floor, still aware of her gaze on his back. He opened the door and stepped outside, letting all the stress escape in one long sigh.
"Problem?" inquired the secretary.
"I'm going to the bar," answered Markas. He could still feel her looking at him through the door.
The worst part of it?
The fact that the chance to go deep-diving in the Europan Ocean where no human being had ever been before was worryingly enticing, despite the best efforts of his common sense trying to dissuade him.
Something cold, carbonated and malty. That would help.
-----
They'd taken a table for themselves in the back, away from the crowd who'd come in to watch the race. The television over the bar was showing the live feed from the Fides 500, camera focusing in one a black jet with forward-swept wings. A few were getting loud, cheering the pilot on. Apparently she used to be a member of the City Militia or something - a nobody from a nobody team that'd frightened everyone at the first few races. Markas was only half-paying attention to it all, just to make sure nobody was paying attention to him.
Yumeko sat back into her seat before sucking a mouthful of cola up through a straw. Her hair was cut short to fit inside a pilot's helmet. Her jeans were well worn and broken comfortably in. - just like the vinyl jacket she wore.
"So, some AI takes the Drummers desk and gives you this card, and you're seriously thinking of going for it."
"I think we all know what working with a Troubleshooter means," said Markas, calmly.
"Money. Lots of money!" Skippy grinned. He was the shortest of the group. Shorter than Kay. He'd shaved his head to win a bet, and kept it that way because he thought it made him look good.
"Only you," Kay sighed. She held her gently with the tips of her fingers. She was the only one who bothered to actually dress up. A red Chinese dress and long, dark chocolate hair made her stand out in a small bar. She was the ruby in a mountain of rocks.
Markas took a sip from his glass. Cheap Sapporo, nothing special. But refreshing nonetheless. "The question is. Do we want to do it or not?"
Dave - Just Dave - was staring into his empty glass. He was still drinking soda - his broad face still looking just a little pale after the previous night. His short black hair was slicked down by sweat, a soft smile forming on his lips.
"It's Europa, man. Man, nobody's ever been down there." he said. " Even if it's not Europa, I'll take that chance. There're very few places underwater where humans have been, that you'll need our skills to get to."
And that was a very hard thing for any of them to deny. A few wordless looks were exchanged between the crew. Nobody was shaking their heads. No vehement objections.
Markas took a deep breath. That was the bait they offered. He down the last of his drink. It was ultimately irresistible to anyone who'd come up to Fenspace with ambitions beyond the mundane.
"So, we're doing it then?"
Nobody said no.
-----
Original Author Verified.
Quantum Signature Verified.
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Message confirmed Authentic.
To: [[Undisclosed Recipients]
Operation CAMERON Status Report. May 2024
The recruitement of the team is a go. They got in touch with me using the card three days ago. They'll be briefed on the full details when I get them out here somewhere private. Kudos to her on pulling that off. I owe her one.
Compartmentalisation-wise. I see no reason thus far to tell them what they're actually digging up. As far as the majority of people on the boat'll be concerned it's nothing more than a rare alloy. They're more likely to keep the secret if they don't know. They'll be given full control over their own equipment specifications. I'll need confirmation on the budget and appropriations details before they get here.
Preparation of the Explorer is a week behind schedule. We' re being held back by a high mundane workload. On top of that, an intelligence awakened inside the old missile computer systems - ones we were planning to remove to make space for crew cabins. We've had to do a quick emergency revision to our schedule. We're rushing hull and propulsion preparation to make the thing spaceworthy. We can fly the ship to the rock the old fashioned way and get the mind to a more stable system. Two tons of discrete electronics and core memory are not a nice place to live.
I'll enquire with Scarlet Angel about moving up the fit-out times on sensor array. I've asked Pink here to finalise the equipment specifications early - she should have them finished within three days. If we can get both transfer and retrofit done at the same time it'll save us a week and get everything back on schedule for a mid-October mission.
The ongoing Millenium move's proving to be as much a help as a hindrance. Blue's gotten approximately 50% of the crew together out of militia members. It's also giving us good cover for moving people out here. I've arranged for the specialist team to be on the next transport.
Assuming it's possible to correct the schedule with the Explorer, we hope to begin design work on the wet-gear by the third week of June, with a view to completing the construction process by the second week of August.
Our cover for this mission is a post-racing holiday. That's not going to hold out once the redshirts see we have people on the Ocean bottom. We need a researcher. It'll give credence to the claim that we're just conducting a little amateur research on the side. Ideally, the scientist will be someone with security clearance. If not, a low-level graduate student interested in some foreign travel.
If someone has any contacts in Vesta they think might be suitable - or who might know someone suitable, forward the details to me and I'll vet and arrange to make contact. I've no objection to them publishing any research provided it's properly cleared and sanitised. It'll help legitimise our cover story if it brings results.
I'll need them within a month.
Barring no change in circumstance, next update will be the end of June.
END.
There'll be more. Maybe. If anyone wants in on the crew....
________________________________
--m(^0^)m-- Wot, no sig?