Orson Card - Earth unavare

“No, Lem. I have lasted so long with your father because I am always right.”

Lem slept badly the next few days. In his dreams, the gravity field chewed up everything around him: the furniture, his terminal, his bed, his legs, the man with the broken neck; all of it exploding into rock fragments again and again until only dust remained. Lem took pills to help him sleep, but they couldn’t keep him from dreaming. He had ordered the engineers to analyze the dust cloud to ensure that the gravity field had indeed dissipated-he didn’t want to move into the cloud and begin collecting minerals until he was sure the field was gone and the area safe. On the morning of the fifth day, alone in his room, he got his answer.

“The field is gone,” said Benyawe. Her head was floating in the holospace above Lem’s terminal. “We built a sensor from old parts and sent it into the cloud. It didn’t explode or experience any change in gravity whatsoever. We can begin collecting metal dust whenever you’re ready.”

“I want to see the data from the sensor,” said Lem.

“I didn’t know you could decipher this type of data.”

“I can’t. But seeing it will make me feel better.”

Benyawe shrugged and disappeared. A moment later columns of data appeared on Lem’s holodisplay. The numbers meant nothing to him, but he was pleased to see so many of them. Lots of data meant conclusive results. Lem relaxed a little, wiped the data away, and entered a command. The mining crew chief appeared in the holodisplay.

“Morning, Mr. Jukes.”

“We’ve been given the all-clear,” said Lem. “We’ll be moving into the dust cloud within the hour.”

“Excellent. The scoopers are ready. Once we bring in the dust, we’ll start making the cylinders.”

Lem ended the call and hovered there beside his terminal, at ease for the first time in weeks. He had taken a risk, yes, but now, finally, it was going to pay off. He put his hands behind his head and wondered what type of metal they would find. Iron? Cobalt? Curious, he returned to his terminal and pulled up the going rates for minerals. The prices were at least a month old, but barring some dramatic shift in the market, the rates should be fairly close to accurate. He was about to rotate one of the graphs and more closely study the data when the charts suddenly disappeared.

An old woman’s head took their place in the holospace.

“Mr. Jukes,” the woman said. “I am Concepcion Querales, captain of El Cavador, which you attacked in an unprovoked assault.”

Lem froze. Was this a joke? How was he getting an unprompted message to his personal terminal? Had El Cavador sent them a laserline? Who had authorized this?

“I have programmed this message to play for you long after we’re gone,” Concepcion said. “I would have preferred to speak to you directly, but your irrational and barbaric behavior suggests that you are not a man with whom I can have any semblance of a normal conversation.”

Lem tapped at his keyboard to make the message stop, but the terminal didn’t respond.

“You cannot attack us now,” said Concepcion. “Nor can you track us. By now we are far beyond your reach. I have taken this risk and left you this message because I wanted you to know that you killed a man.”

Lem stopped tapping at the keyboard and stared.

“I doubt you’ll care,” said Concepcion. “I doubt you’ll lose any sleep over this fact. But one of our best men, my nephew, is dead. He was a decent man with children and a loving wife. You, because of your arrogance and obvious disregard for human life, have taken all that away from him.” Her voice was quavering, yet there was steel behind it. “I doubt you are a man of faith, Mr. Jukes. Or if you are, you must pray to gods so cruel of heart that I am glad I do not know them. In my faith, I am taught to forgive those who offend me seven times seventy. I fear that you have damned yourself and me as well, Mr. Jukes, because I don’t see myself forgiving you in this life or the next.”

The holo blinked out, and the mineral pricing charts returned. Lem tapped at his keyboard and saw that he had control again. His mind was racing. They had planted a file in the ship’s system. They had penetrated their firewall and planted a file. How the hell had they done that?

He found his headset and called Podolski to his room immediately. The archivist arrived a few minutes later looking wary. Lem had put his greaves on and was pacing the room.

“They accessed us,” Lem said. “El Cavador accessed our system. You want to tell me how that happened?”

Podolski looked confused. “Accessed us? I don’t think so, sir.”

“I just watched a holo on my display from the captain of their ship. Now, unless I am completely losing my mind, which I know I am not, they accessed our system.”

“You say you watched a holo, sir?”

“Are you deaf? They planted a damn holo on my personal terminal. Now if this is someone’s idea of a joke, I want to know who that someone is, and I want him jettisoned from this ship. You understand?”

Podolski seemed uneasy. “I assure you, Mr. Jukes. No one on this ship can access your personal terminal except for you and me, and I would never play a joke like that, sir.”

Lem believed him. It wasn’t a joke. It couldn’t be a joke. Very few people even knew that someone had been injured in the bump.

“I thought our firewall was impenetrable,” said Lem.

“It is, sir. Best design in the company. We’re carrying proprietary tech on this vessel, sir. Every layer of security was employed. Nobody can get in here.”

“Well they did. And I want to know how.”

Podolski moved to Lem’s holodisplay. “May I see this file, sir?”

“It played automatically. I don’t know where it is.”

Podolski tapped at Lem’s display. Lem felt a momentary panic. He didn’t want Podolski seeing the file. He didn’t want anyone seeing the file. It was incriminating.

“I see where there was something, ” said Podolski, “but it had a track-backer program on it, which means it self-erased after playing.”

“You see? They accessed our system.”

Podolski squinted at the display and moved very quickly after that, windows opened and closed in quick succession. He entered passwords, accessed screens and icons that Lem had never seen before. He scrolled through long lists of what appeared to be random numbers and code. He worked for several minutes in silence, his eyes racing up and down through the holospace. Lem tried to keep up but couldn’t.

Lem’s first thought was for the gravity laser. Had the free miners seen it? Had they accessed its schematics? Were they after those files? If so, if they had seen them, if the secrecy of the glaser had been compromised, Lem would be ruined. His father and the Board would never forgive him. It would be devastating to the company. And what about the videos of the bump? The files he had erased. Had El Cavador seen those?

Podolski stopped typing suddenly and stared at the dozens of different windows and lines of code in the holospace. “Oh,” he said.

“What?” said Lem. “What does ‘oh’ mean? What are you oh-ing about?”

“The system does a backup every forty-five minutes, sir. It’s procedural. But it looks as if the system did an unscheduled backup recently.”

“What does that mean? ‘An unscheduled backup.’ What are you saying?”

“I can’t be certain, sir,” said Podolski, turning to Lem, “but I think it means some of our files were copied to a foreign target.”

“Foreign target? What? Like a snifferstick? When? When did this happen exactly?”

Podolski tapped the keys again to find the answer. “Exactly twenty-three minutes after we bumped El Cavador, sir.”