Saturn Run (The Planetary Trilogy Book 1) Read online

  “You think it’s that big, Hugh? I mean, generally speaking these science things don’t run that high with the average Joe.”

  “I’m afraid I do, sir. Your average Joe is funny that way. Tell him you understand the origins of the Universe and he’s changing channels to a game show or a soap. Tell him he’s going to be blasted off the continent next month, or a mile-high tidal wave is coming across his doorstep tomorrow morning and you’ve got his attention.”

  Anna Juarez said, “It goes higher than that, sir. As you may recall, this will be on the agenda when the National Security Council meets on Tuesday.”

  “Surely we’re not allowing this kind of thing to dictate national policy?”

  The Secretary of State cleared his throat. “Er – international policy now, sir. It’s become an international issue.”

  “Oh, has it now? Well, Henry, I don’t see Britain or China or India or the rest of them falling over themselves to do something about it.”

  “We’re the only ones with the capability for that kind of mission, sir.”

  “Oh yeah, nothing new about that. The good ol’ U.S. of A. bails the world out once again. The heck with it! Why does the buck always stop with us? I have other priorities.“ He sighed. “All right, I’ll tell you what. Why don’t we get the Joint Chiefs of Staff in here? We’ll ask them what we need in the way of missiles and warheads to knock out one of these rocks. And we’ll equip a manned platform somewhere way out there, so they can target anything coming in.” He paused to pick up the folder and his eyes twinkled. “We’ll call it the ‘Sentry to the Solar System’. I think that has a good ring to it.”

  The Secretary of State coughed. “Excuse me, sir, you know you can’t do that. It’d be a flagrant violation of the Convention on the Militarization of Space.”

  “What? Oh that. Well, we don’t have to keep it to ourselves. I’ll contact the heads of state. Tell them what we’re doing, let them contribute funds if they want to. How would that be, Henry?”

  “They’ll go ballistic. No one’s going to tolerate us establishing a military presence out there.” He pursed his lips. “I suppose the Chinese might go along with it if they could have some of their own people on the platform.”

  The Secretary of Defense looked up. “Are you serious, Henry? With our latest weapons deploying out there?”

  “We could use old technology, couldn’t we, Bob?”

  “No way, the military won’t wear that. They won’t want any part of this if their hands are tied. And they’d be right: you’re going to need some serious firepower to knock out a one-kilometre asteroid properly. Right, Jimmy?”

  Buckley nodded vigorously. “Absolutely. If you just blow it into a few large pieces you’ve only made the problem worse.”

  The President tossed the folder onto the table. “Wonderful! So what am I supposed to do? I’m damned if I take action and I’m damned if I don’t!”

  An uncomfortable silence descended on the room and Buckley became aware of the loud ticking of the long-case clock. He left enough time for someone else to advance a solution but there were no offers. He leaned forward.

  “Sir, I think there may be a way.”

  “Go on, then, Jimmy.”

  “I’ve been thinking about this. The scientists are clamouring for an Orbiting Station around Saturn. That’s a civilian project. Suppose we give it to them? And we give them another Deep Space Observatory to go with it. Make plenty of noise about it, of course, leading the world in the exploration of the universe, all that sort of thing—"

  “What the hell, Jimmy…”

  “Just a minute, sir, please hear me out. The Orbiting Station is our weapons platform, operating on data provided by the Deep Space Observatory. We combine the two – use the scientific objectives of the Orbiting Station as cover.”

  The President blinked and Buckley felt the man’s penetrating gaze on him, yet seemingly focused somewhere behind him.

  “It’s an idea,” the President said slowly. “What does Defense think of that? Bob?”

  Bob Sheridan’s eyes narrowed. “There’d have to be a military presence. We can’t have civilians manning weapons. A lot of that hardware is classified.”

  “Jimmy?”

  “Sure, you’d need some military personnel in charge of it. But you could keep that part quiet, couldn’t you?”

  The President’s eyes narrowed. “Think we could manage that, Bob?”

  Sheridan nodded slowly. “I think so. It would be a large, complex project and everyone would be working on his own part of it. The pieces would be put together at successively higher levels. Only the people at the highest level would have the big picture.”

  “What about the scientists who go out there? They’ll find out.”

  “We can vet them thoroughly and read them the Espionage Act. And we can censor all their communications with Earth – just in case. Shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “I need to tell the public something pretty soon. Any suggestions, Hugh?”

  Hugh Wainwright sat straight, a distant smile on his face. “You can say you have acted resolutely and decisively. That a Deep Space Observatory has been deployed that has an ‘intervention capability’. Thanks to the initiative you have taken, no rogue asteroid will ever make it as far as Earth. The lives and livelihoods of every American – indeed every citizen of the world – are safe once again.”

  The Secretary of Defense was shaking his head. “That kind of media-speak is all very fine, Hugh, but it could take two or three years before a platform like that reaches operational status.”

  “Bob, unless we’re unlucky enough to have an asteroid come in during that time, who’s going to know?”

  The President smiled. “Good point. The Press will clamour for details, of course, but I can stonewall. What about the cost? You know what Congress is like: if they know I want it, they’ll do their damnedest to make sure I don’t get it. We’ll never get the appropriations through in time, if at all. Any ideas, Paul?”

  The Secretary of Treasury said, “We could lean on the Agency. Tell them we want them to commission a second Orbiting Station and a second Deep Space Observatory like the ones in Mars orbit.”

  “It would take their entire budget!”

  The Vice-President joined in. “We could promise them a larger appropriation the following year.”

  “You know I can’t promise them that, Marie.”

  “You can always promise. It’s not your fault if Congress won’t let you deliver.”

  “That’s true. Then we’ve got to equip it. Bob, do we have the necessary hardware?”

  “I believe so, sir. We already have shell-throwers and missile systems with multiple predictive targeting – that’s the kind of thing they’ll need. We also have torpedoes with an extra-atmospheric capability. I don’t think there’s much new here except for a little more prediction, maybe, on the likely size and trajectory of the fragments. That’s just software. All of it’s today’s technology.”

  “Bob, all that materiel will have to come from the Department of Defense. Do you think the Joint Chiefs will sit still for that?”

  Bob Sheridan grinned. “They’d jump at it. For years they’ve been champing at the bit for a military presence in space. It’s the ultimate strategic high ground. They’re worried about what happens if some other nation ignores the Convention and quietly establishes themselves up there first. Some are convinced the Chinese have done it already.”

  “Well, that way we could keep the military hardware under wraps. Question of national security – that kind of thing. What if we have to use the darn thing, though? Suppose we do have to blow one of these rocks apart? The cat will be well and truly out of the bag then. Have you thought of that, Jimmy?”

  Buckley had thought of it. “Sir, that’s only a problem if you view it from where we’re standing now. If something really did happen and we had to intervene, the whole context would change. Look, here’s the scenario. The Deep Space Observator
y picks up a kilometre-sized chunk of hardcore and they find it’s on a collision course with Earth. What do they do? First they make sure the coordinates and trajectory are transmitted to Earth-based and orbiting observatories. That way everyone can follow the show. The scientists down here predict where the thing will impact and how much of the Earth will be wasted. Everyone is wringing their hands. The end of the world is nigh! Then our people in Station Saturn blow it up or deflect it. Everyone’ll be so relieved and delighted they’ll be prepared to overlook where the money came from – or who fired the shots.”

  “Right…” The President was pensive for a moment, then he looked up. “I want this to be a major public relations coup. Suppose it all goes off the boil before the election? We’d have taken one hell of a risk for nothing. See what I mean? Hugh?”

  “You’re absolutely right, Mr President, but we can stay in control of that. Whether or not the story goes cold the whole thing needs to be orchestrated properly. We’ll do some new media releases and a couple of documentaries. Make sure there are repeat showings of the more convincing disaster movies, like Ice Planet. Stir up a bit of panic again. Then you step in, sir, and make the announcement.”

  He grimaced. “We can’t afford to make any mistakes. If there’s an accident at launch or something and it all comes out before we’re good and ready there’ll be hell to pay. Yes, Bob?”

  “We can do it in stages, sir. Part-assemble the Deep Space Observatory and the Orbiting Station in Earth orbit and send that on its way. Then the crew goes out to man it and finish the construction in Saturn orbit. The very last thing we do is send out the military hardware to equip it. That’s the risky part but it’s deniable; if something goes wrong we’ll say we never authorized it and we had no knowledge of it. Nobody will connect it to the Orbiting Station. We’ll be in the clear.”

  The President slapped a hand on the table. “All right, we’ll go for it. And for Chrissake let’s keep a tight lid on the whole thing.” He picked up his folder from the table. “He sighed. “Asteroids! Orbiting Stations! If these people could stop gazing at the heavens for a few minutes they’d see we got troubles enough here at home: health, education, poverty, crime, drugs – especially drugs. You know about the space freighter we just intercepted? Customs said it was packed from stem to stern with Dramatoin! I’ve sent a message down the line; I want them to come down very hard on everyone involved. We have to get on top of this drug trafficking nonsense…”

  18

  “Why?” Dan protested. “Why should I plead guilty? I didn’t know what I was carrying.”

  They faced each other, sitting in plastic chairs on either side of a small table that was bolted to the floor. It was the only furniture in the interviewing room.

  Julian Romero was the public defender assigned to him. His dark, wavy hair shone in the light cast by the single glow panel in the ceiling above them. He looked young for the job, but there was a keen intelligence in his eyes and a confidence in his manner that Dan found reassuring. He clasped his hands and rested them on the table in front of him.

  “Dan, you need to understand what you’re up against. You were caught transporting the most powerful, most addictive drug in the Universe. Do you know what Dramatoin does to people?”

  “No,” Dan admitted weakly.

  “Well, listen carefully and I’ll tell you. The immediate effect is one of increased sensory awareness. People say they feel incredibly invigorated; every experience is more vivid, more life-enhancing, sex is almost overwhelming. They feel capable of doing anything. That’s their perception. Tests show that their faculties and judgment are actually impaired. The onset of addiction is insidious. To start with there’s no apparent craving. But people enjoy the trip and they come back for more. It feels as if they can pick it up and put it down at will – but it gets hold of them, it always does. Once they’re hooked on Blaze – that’s what they call it in the street – they never get off it. And that’s just the beginning.”

  Dan groaned. Romero went on:

  “It’s not just powerfully addictive, it’s costly. So we have all the social consequences: the addicts become unemployable, destitute, their relationships disintegrate, they turn to crime. Nothing unusual about that; it’s the same for any hard drug. But Dramatoin goes one further. It exaggerates any latent psychopathological tendencies – irreversibly. So the addicts get more and more paranoid or manic or homicidal or obsessional – what may start off as a quirk of their personality takes them over completely.”

  Dan swallowed hard. “Can’t you treat the addiction?”

  “No. You can’t get them off it, the effects of withdrawal are so traumatic they’re invariably fatal. So if these people ever get into a secure psychiatric hospital – and a lot of them don’t make it that far – the only way to keep them alive is to keep giving them small amounts of the drug. Eventually their minds go completely and their bodies waste away to skin and bone. And they die.

  “The Dramatoin your ship was carrying would have been distributed through an elaborate network to every major city in this country and to a number of destinations abroad. You told me privately you’ve flown two previous transports. Whether you knew it or not, you’ve been responsible for an untold amount of human misery.”

  Dan slumped in his seat. He knew already how foolish he’d been. No one could be angrier with him than he was with himself. But physically he was still in a weakened state after the trip and being cooped up in a cell hadn’t helped. On top of that he hadn’t slept properly for days. He was finding it hard to maintain focus. His voice seemed to emerge from a distance.

  “I’m just a pilot. I needed a job. This one was well paid. I’d never have taken it if I’d known what it was about, however much I was paid – believe me.”

  Romero gave a sympathetic grunt. “I believe you, Dan, but it’s not me you have to worry about. The Attorney General wants them to throw the book at you, and Quenby – he’s the State Prosecutor – is only too willing to oblige. You could be facing a very long term in prison.”

  Dan slid a little further down his seat. Then he levered himself up again, planted his elbows on the table and supported his head on his hands. Romero reached across the table and gripped one forearm. “We haven’t given up. There could be a way out…”

  *

  James Quenby set the fibre pen on his desk and lifted his large head. With his shock of white hair, bushy eyebrows and tanned, leathery face he had the imperious look of a Roman senator.

  “What is it, Julian?”

  Romero closed the door behind him. “The Larssen case. I think we should discuss a deal.”

  Quenby uttered a hollow laugh. “You must be joking. We’re going for maximum. The Attorney General wants it – dammit the President himself wants it. Now be a good man and don’t waste my time.”

  Romero took hold of the door handle but remained facing the Prosecutor.

  “Okay, have it your way. Catch a minnow when you could be netting a full-sized shark.”

  A shadow fell across Quenby’s craggy countenance. He spoke deliberately, the words emerging slowly under the weight of his voice.

  “What are you talking about?”

  Without waiting for an invitation, Romero crossed the room, pulled out a chair, sat by the desk, and crossed his legs. Quenby watched him suspiciously.

  “The shoot-out at that orbiting station,” Romero began. “Apart from my client, how many arrests were made? Two?” Quenby said nothing. “Yes, two, as I recall; the rest went down fighting. So you have two in custody. And who were they working for?”

  “Rostov’s syndicate, of course,” Quenby rumbled. “What…?”

  “So you’ll be arresting Mikhael Rostov, will you?” Romero waited. “No?” He raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. “Why not? You’ve been after him for years. Here’s your big chance.”

  “You know damned well why not! Scum like those two won’t say a thing. They know what’ll happen to them if they do, in prison or ou
t.”

  “Now that is such a shame.”

  “Look, Julian, if you’ve got something to say, say it or get out.”

  Romero uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. He prodded a finger on the desk.

  “Suppose I can put Rostov in the dock for you?”

  Their eyes bored into each other.

  “Go on.”

  “My client didn’t know what was in the cargo. Now he knows and he’s angry about it. He’s prepared to testify that Rostov employed him.” He sat back. “It’s the link you’ve been praying for, Jim. A direct connection between trafficking a deadly drug and your friend Mikhael. You’d get your conviction. The Attorney General would be pretty pleased, I should think. Not to mention the President.”

  Quenby’s eyes narrowed.

  “What are you proposing?”

  “My client will plead guilty to a minor customs violation. He’ll be released on probation—"

  “You must be out of your mind—"

  “No, I’m not. Listen. Larrsen’s not the one you want. You read the Customs report. The internal door to the cargo hold was locked – they had to blow it open. There’s no way Larssen could have known what he was carrying unless they told him and they didn’t tell him. That’s one. Two: He’s been in prison for months while you’ve been preparing your case, and if he’s going to testify against Rostov you’ll have to keep him there in protective custody until the trial’s over. So he’s already served a sentence. Three: You know the reputation of Rostov’s gang, you just said it yourself. I know I sure as hell wouldn’t want to fall into their hands after giving evidence against their padrone. Even with witness protection Larssen will live in fear every day for the rest of his life. It’s a brave thing he’s doing, Jim. Acknowledge it. Give him the benefit of the doubt.”

  Quenby pushed himself up from his desk. He crossed to the window and stood there, staring out, hands linked behind his back. Romero waited.