CHAPTER 4
The small probe did not display the proud emblem of the Maktoum Corporation, and neither did any of the hundred or so identical probes quietly sifting through the asteroids in Bethune’s humble star system. Each of these probes bore dozens of optical eyes around their spherical skins, each eye tasked with tracking an asteroid until an interrogator pulse measured and sampled that individual asteroid. One by one, this particular probe identified and categorized floating chunks of rock, just like all the other Maktoum Corporation probes near Bethune.
Unlike all the others, this particular probe tracked and identified one very large, very unusual hunk of tumbling space debris, quickly picking out the key measurements, noting the odd discrepancies, and cataloging it with all the others. When the probe completed its task, it cogitated for a moment, sifting programmed instructions in the light of this new find. Unlike its sibling probes prospecting among the asteroids, this probe now disgorged its entire catalog of asteroid data in one long, coded burst, transmitting to a distant, waiting Maktoum survey vessel.
Shortly thereafter it received a special instruction signal, digested this for a moment, then actuated a self-destruct charge, detonating in a spectacular fashion, far from any prying eyes.
Only one of the three people crammed aboard the Maktoum survey vessel remained awake at the moment probe 61 sent its alert and accompanying trove of data.
Angel Rua had only worked for Maktoum Corporation for just over a year, but he knew his orders very well. Without pausing to awaken his fellow crew members, Angel double-checked the parameters and sent an alert upstream to the Maktoum outpost on Bethune. A moment later he sent the self-destruct code back to probe 61, just as his written orders required.
Angel could only guess what all the fuss could mean, and hoped he might eventually rise to a position within the company to be trusted with such strategic facts. For the foreseeable future Angel would remain cloistered in this miserable little survey vessel, hiding out from any observers, private or governmental, while the army of probes continued to survey, catalog, and upload their respective views of the asteroid field.
Out of all the asteroid belts in all the known star systems, why this clump near Bethune anyway? Though Angel had never set foot on Bethune proper, he knew it was a crusty frontier-type world, still mostly mining and agriculture, with little to recommend it aside from the peculiar alien Gear, for those who cared.
He sighed to himself as he glanced about the cramped confines enclosing him. Despite Bethune’s supposed deficiencies, Angel fervently dreamed of a quick visit to the dirt ball. It would only a take a day or two, and he could walk around under an open sky, eat real food, maybe chat up a pretty girl . . . or chat up anyone aside from his two workmates.
But no . . . he knew their orders all too well. Hide out here on the fringe of the belt, upload the surveys, and when ordered, flip the switch on this whole star system, heading straight back to Earth over one hundred light-years distant. Angel knew he’d be lucky to emerge from this horrid little ship within three months, and not a single moment of excitement would likely break the boredom and monotony until then.
A moment later, the light began to flash on Angel’s instrument panel as he received a coded message clearly responding to the data packet he had forwarded from probe 61.
When he opened the encrypted communiqué and saw the signature stamp from the Maktoum director of operations, Angel’s mouth felt suddenly dry. One quick pass through the message made it clear that three months of boredom no longer stretched out before them, but Angel wasn’t positive this sudden change represented an improvement.
Five minutes later, Angel roused his two sleeping associates with warranted gusto, extracting some choice language from both of them. “What? What the hell is so damned urgent, Rua?” McCardle demanded, sitting up in his bunk and fluttering his big, stupid hand at Angel.
“We’ve got orders,” Angel said, enjoying the look dawning on McCardle’s face. “We’re moving out.”
McCardle scrambled out of his blankets, a series of shocked expressions flashing across his face. “Back to Earth?”
“No,” Angel said, gleeful to share the bad news. “We’ve been ordered to hunt down a rock.”
Maktoum Corporation remained a family establishment although it had become one of the most influential and profitable commercial enterprises in history, with trillions in assets across dozens of planetary systems.
When managing director Sharif Maktoum suddenly appeared at the opulent Maktoum building in Bethune’s capital, Torino, a flurry of activity flowed from the lobby entrance up to the fourteenth-floor management offices in a matter of moments. By the time Sharif strode into the conference room, all the section supervisors already stood at attention, Sharif’s younger brother, Sami, at their head. The watchful expression in his eyes matched with a subdued look of exultancy that Sharif knew well and didn’t trust. Sami felt he had achieved some notable victory, clearly.
Good, Sharif thought, it was about time Sami began to fill the shoes the prior generations of Maktoum luminaries had bequeathed to them both.
For the moment, Sharif ignored his brother, his gaze locking with each of the unit supervisors in turn. “Greetings to you all. I will not be on Bethune long, but I wished to let you all know that the next phase of operations here is of no little interest to everyone in our firm, even back on Earth.”
Sharif thought he observed a number of relieved breaths among the assembly, and in the next instant he notched tensions back up. “While I am here, I am pleased to address any complaints or issues that may not have appeared in official communiqués. If any such issues exist, please speak up now.”
Sharif knew that his own voice remained pitched comfortably low, his expression mild, but among the others he detected a faint undercurrent of . . . fear? From long experience Sharif merely stood quietly, allowing his senses to expand as the tension continued to increase. In a few moments it became increasingly obvious. All the supervisors except one wore wooden expressions, their eyes working hard to avoid looking in the same direction, while the final supervisor, a highly attractive female supervisor, wore a look that could only be called aloof. And Sami’s smile had evolved into that mulish expression Sharif knew so well from their youth.
Ah, so this at least had not changed.
“Very well,” Sharif said at last. “You may return to your duties.” Sharif thought he heard an audible exhalation from the supervisors as they moved toward the door, Sami standing in place, his handsome features composed watchfully.
As the door closed behind the relieved flock, Sharif wondered, should he begin with personal, or professional? Personal . . . yes, personal.
Sharif drew a seat from the conference table, easing his lanky form into its yielding embrace, his gaze never leaving Sami’s face. “Brother,” Sharif began in his most gentle tone, “I do believe we both heard our father explain that one does not shit where one eats.”
Sami’s mulish lines appeared again, but that gleam of triumph still hovered about his eyes in a way that made Sharif uneasy. “Sharif, it’s so good to see you also,” Sami declared in a pointed tone, “and if your homily is meant to address my, um, romantic inclinations, I must say it explains that hangdog look your wife’s always wearing.” As Sharif opened his mouth to verbally eviscerate his younger brother, Sami held up a forestalling hand. “But none of that matters. Listen . . . I’ve got a plum in the bag, and this will make even you sit up and take notice.”
Sharif schooled himself to patience. “If you refer to the imminent decision of the Bethune governing body, I’ve already—”
Sami swiped his hand sharply. “No, no. Not that. Your advisors have done their work well, and Bethune’s falling into line, exactly as you planned, but I speak of something much . . . juicier.”
Sharif’s quick mind flitted through every ridiculous scheme Sami had authored in recent memory, realization suddenly dawning. “Not your ridiculous treasure hunting?”
Sami’s triumphant expression returned in full force. “Not so ridiculous now, big brother.” He jutted his head forward. “I’ve found it. Despite the piddling investment you allowed, I have found it.”
Sharif recalled the piddling investment constituted a few billion guilders that he never expected to see again. He also recalled a similar claim of victory on an entirely different sort of treasure hunt Sami had militated for a few years earlier, and Sharif couldn’t resist the low-hanging fruit now.
“Perhaps you still remember an earlier piddling investment,” Sharif said. “An army of forensic data specialists picking through the bones of pre-Cleanse data stores.”
Sami flushed, recoiling. “I remember perfectly, but—”
“And you were so certain that if we could only locate these legendary fabrication files we would add a trillion guilders to our bottom line.”
“I said that I remember!” Sami snapped.
Sharif went on as if he hadn’t heard. “But it turns out that collectors will only pay vast prices for original Old Earth vehicles, not a new replication, no matter how exact to the original.”
Sami moved, running his hands through his shining black coif, taking a distracted step away from Sharif. “I still think the book’s not closed on that one. Those fabrication files will be worth a fortune eventually. When that market matures, they’ll find out that Maktoum Corporation is the only enterprise in human space that can re-create genuine versions of those Old Earth vehicles.”
Sharif sighed. “There is a chance—a microscopic chance—that these antique data files will be worth something eventually . . . even though there’s no rational reason for anyone to operate such idiotic vehicles anymore, scarcely anywhere for someone to drive them if they wanted to, and their exploding fuel source is not likely to become commonly available even if they could.” He stared at Sami until catching his gaze. “That microscopic chance is the only reason I haven’t tried to offload the lot to some antiquities collector already.”
Sami glowered at Sharif for a moment before saying, “Are you done now? Are you ready to be proven wrong . . . for once?”
Sharif couldn’t resist a small smile. “By all means, brother. I yearn to be proven wrong.”
Sami nodded. “You remember when I said that the real profit here on Bethune will go to whoever digs up some of the real alien tech?”
Sharif snorted. “Yes, Sami. But it’s hardly a new idea. Every crank for the last century has claimed that the aliens who left the Gear lying about surely left something more valuable also lying about. And yet . . . the decades have passed without—”
“Until now,” Sami interrupted. “Only it’s not on the planet surface where everyone else was looking. I found it where the aliens would have to mine all the metals they needed for their enormous ships.”
Sharif stared. “And what exactly have you found among the asteroids, Sami?”
“This.” Sami unfolded a palm slate and handed it over to Sharif with a smirk.
As Sharif looked at the data and imagery scrolling across the slate, Sami went on, “You’re looking at one of the biggest rocks in this system, and the Bethune system sports a lot of big rocks.”
“Yes . . . I see,” Sharif said. “And I see its mass is way off its mark.”
Sami nodded. “More than seventy percent hollow. Which it would have to be if these aliens used it for a base.”
Sharif handed the slate back to Sami. “A base? I think your enthusiasm is premature.” He shook his head, smiling indulgently. “It is an interesting find, I grant you, brother, but it has probably just been carved out for minerals, with nothing more exciting to see than some ancient tool marks and—”
Sami thrust a finger out and waved it. “Uh-uh, brother. You’re slipping. Look . . .” He handed the slate back. “Heat signatures, water vapor, and check out that isotope profile.” Sami’s expression took on its most triumphant gleam yet. “Somebody’s generating power on this big rock, and we are about to figure out who . . .”