Mark Anson - Below Mercury

The thin shell of the atmosphere could be seen clearly, a deep blue band along the curved horizon. Scattered clouds floated above the landmass as another day drew to its close; a band of deep shadow in the distance marked the terminator, the line of oncoming night.

The voice of the centre that controlled the crowded orbit levels round the Earth sounded in their headsets.

‘Mercury Two Zero Seven, Earth Orbit Control, we have you in a circular orbit at three two zero kilometres. Clear climb to five zero zero kilometres, maintain inclination at plus two three decimal five, insertion point India Three at zero two two six Zulu. Report when ready for final approach to Space Tug Two One.’

As Wilson read back the clearance, Matt could see the navigation display in front of the copilot, and the paths of the spaceplane and the unseen space tug moving in their respective orbits. Figures and angles, and a long, curved line between the two craft, popped us as Matt watched.

A hollow rushing sound came from outside the cockpit walls, and the view outside shifted slightly; Clare was turning the ship to line it up for the manoeuvring burn.

Matt looked up and out of the cockpit windows. The day below was ending; a wave of darkening could be seen to the right, spreading across the landmass towards them.

‘Coming up on terminator now,’ Wilson said, ‘nineteen minutes to orbital manoeuvring burn.’

The light in the cockpit faded as dusk fell across the world below, and in moments, they flew into the darkness of space behind the Earth.

The room was empty except for a single table and chair. The blinds were drawn, but the evening sunlight still leaked into the room from outside, casting lines of golden light across the floor.

A key turned in the lock, and Colonel Helligan entered the room, closing and locking the door behind him. He glanced around, as if checking that he was alone, then strode to the table and flung his cap down.

A sophisticated portable satellite phone, similar to those used by the intelligence services, sat on the table. Helligan sat down and switched the phone on, and began keying in a long sequence of characters. He typed without pause, from memory, glancing at his watch once to check the date.

He pressed the SEND key, and waited.

A series of LEDs blinked furiously in different colours as the secure connection was set up. Finally, all the LEDs glowed green, and a subdued hissing came from the speaker.

They were there.

‘Yes.’ The voice that came from the speaker was mechanical, distorted by filters and vocoders to render it unrecognisable. Over the last few months, however, Helligan had found that he could tell the difference between various speakers by the rhythm of their voices.

He leaned closer to speak, as if afraid that someone might overhear him.

‘This is Mainstay.’

‘Report.’ The distorted voice was clipped and abrupt.

Helligan licked his lips.

‘They’ve left orbit, and they’re on their way to Mercury. Everything’s on schedule.’

‘Has the code been inserted?’

‘Yes.’

‘Does anyone suspect that the flight software has been tampered with?’

‘No. It was hidden inside a routine update to the mission management software. I’ve seen the maintenance records. Nobody suspects a thing.’

There was a pause. A different voice, a slower one, joined the conversation.

‘We don’t share your assessment of the situation. The captain was seen talking to one of the maintenance technicians yesterday. She may know something.’

‘Pilots talk to maintenance all the time,’ Helligan said, moving uneasily in the chair. ‘If Foster suspected anything, she’d never have taken off. All she wants is to get back into space, and this is her ticket.’

There was a short silence, and the first speaker came back on the line.

‘Are you certain that this will work?’

‘Yes. They’ll be out of radio contact when it happens. There’s no chance of recovery.’

‘What if she can’t land, and returns to Earth?’

Helligan smiled.

‘You’ve seen her psych profile. She won’t dare not land, not with her record. She’ll put that ship down all right, and that’s when it’ll get her.’ Helligan’s eyes narrowed.

‘They must not get into the mine, colonel, do you understand? If they find out what happened there, the consequences for you would be – severe.’

Helligan swallowed, and a chill ran down his spine.

‘Don’t worry. It’s been taken care of. They’ll just disappear, and never make contact again. Without any evidence, and with Foster’s record, it’ll be blamed on her screwing up the landing. They’ll never send another mission after that.’

More silence.

‘I hope you are right, for your sake.’ Even through the distortion, the menace in the voice came across.

‘It’ll work.’ Helligan sounded confident, but he was hunched over in the chair, his expression tense.

‘This will be our last contact.’

Helligan scrambled to get closer to the phone.

‘Wait! When do I get my—’

‘Don’t worry, colonel.’ A strange sound came from the speaker; it might have been someone laughing. ‘You’ll get your payment when they’re gone. Goodbye.’

The other voice came back one last time before the contact was broken. It was quiet, but recognisable.

‘Sleep well, Colonel Helligan.’

The line went dead.

Helligan fell back in the chair. His face was covered with a thin sheen of sweat. They had never used his name before.

Sleep well? Why shouldn’t he sleep well?

He was doing the right thing. Without PMI and the other mining companies to charter spacecraft, there would be no operations in space. There would be no Astronautics Corps, and Andersen would just be another run-down Air Force base in the middle of the Pacific. What was good for PMI was good for the Corps.

He picked up his cap and stood up.

He thought of what he had achieved. It had been difficult to figure out how to keep the change undetected, and he had spent months poring over the problem, until he had spotted a way of doing it.

He hadn’t been able to try it out in the simulator, but there was no way the bitch could recover from it. She and the rest of the SAIB snoopers would disappear into the crater and be forgotten.

Helligan unlocked the door and stepped out into the deserted corridor, locking it behind him, and walked confidently down the corridor.

He imagined Foster’s panic, and her frantic efforts to save the ship, but it wouldn’t be any use. He wondered if she would scream before the end, and he savoured the thought for a moment. Then he saw the other faces on the flight deck, and the terror in their eyes as they saw their death approaching, and he didn’t want to think about that any more.

Halfway down the corridor, Helligan’s expression changed. His walk became hurried. He stumbled, and broke into a run towards the restrooms at the end of the corridor.

He banged the door open, and fell into the nearest stall on his knees. His chest heaved, and he threw up copiously, the hot vomit spewing into the toilet bowl at the thought of what he had done.

Ten days out from Earth, and the huge mass of the deep space tug Baltimore tumbled end-over-end through the empty wilderness of space between Earth and the Sun.

The Earth was eight million kilometres away, still visible as a bright, blue jewel against the backdrop of stars, while the tug fell away sunwards in a long ellipse towards its appointment with Mercury.