Jones? Original Fiction?



Stranger things have happened. Mostly, I'm posting this (admittedly a first
chapter with only about 20% of the second written) to see if there's any
interest or insights into what I'm doing.



Is it anime style? I certainly think so. If nothing else, it is inspired by
anime to a large degree and written by an author who does very little else
with his free time but watch anime and read and write anime fanfiction.
(I'm a sad case. At least I'm creative.)



So, if you're brave enough, read 'Salvage' and tell me what you think!



------------------------------

Salvage



by Chris Jones



Episode 1: The Secre

------------------------------





    "Houston to *Jones*. Come in, *Davey Jones*. Over."



    ~SSHHHSHSHHHHHSHSH....~



    "*Davey Jones*. Do you read? Over."



    ~*Jones* reads, Houston. Sorry about that, I was in

the head. Over.~



    A female figure appeared in the static video window in

front of the NASA Controller. She was medium height and had

short, reddish-orange hair. Several strands were sticking

up, and it was obvious from the way the figure hung upside

down in the window that gravity was something she just

wasn't dealing with today.



    "Ah, good morning Ms. Bernstein. It's good to see that

the CIA is up and around. How's your crew? Over."



    ~Sleeping. As usual,~ Major Sandra Bernstein said,

sipping from a bulb of coffee. ~These guys sleep up here

more than they work.~



    ~MMMmmblblepancakesmbmble...~ a quiet voice muttered

as an obviously female form free floated behind her, clad

only in a baseball jersey and cotton panties.



    "There's an image for SpaceTV," the controller noted.



    ~Lovely. Just photoshop me out of it, if you don't

mind.~



    "Copy, CIA."



    Bernstein glared at the camera. ~Very funny, Houston.

Maybe you can get a picture of Captain Clark drooling in his

sleep.~   



    "Got them and posted to the Internet, CIA. What's the

itinerary for hours marked on mission sheet as

'classified'?"



    ~Classified. Can't you read, Houston?~



    "Well we *know* it's classified! Are you going to

radio blackout or what?"

    

    Bernstein sleepily rubbed her eyes, just realizing

what the controller had meant. ~Sorry, Houston. I'm planning

a brief radio blackout at 1000 hours for security purposes.

We'll blackout again at 1800 hours and stay quiet until 1400

hours the next day. Captain Clark will resume command of

*Davey Jones* at that point and rendezvous with Wayne

station.~



    "Copy, CIA. Unless you're going to protest, I'm having

Challenger station launch a security drone to your blackout

coordinates."



    ~Copy, Houston. The security drone will be fine. CIA

out.~



    ~Mumblblblbelelesausageblble...~



* * *



    The crew of the *Davey Jones* was a hard lot to rouse.

Bernstein had been being unfair. They didn't sleep *all* the

time. They partied until the wee hours and *then* slept for

an indeterminate amount of time.



    The captain and pilot for the *Jones*, Allan Clark,

was a tall, gangly man in his mid-twenties. He had dark,

brownish-blond hair that stuck up in free-fall. This,

combined with his ancient 'Akira' t-shirt and loose biking

shorts only added to his visual similarity to a scarecrow.

Clark yawned at length and took a long draw off a Jolt bulb.



    The physicist for the group was Alexi Marcheau.

Marcheau was a Frenchman, but Bernstein thought of him as a

Lounge Lizard. Even in zero-gravity, the man wore an

immaculately styled coif, heavily moussed to keep it near

his head in the odd environment. He also wore a ridiculous

amount of gold chain and a thin moustache that Bernstein was

infinitely more silly than it was attractive.



    The logistician for the *Jones* was Kani Azaki, a tiny

Japanese-American woman in her early twenties. She had a

nondescript page-boy hairstyle and thick athletic goggles in

the place of the glasses she would wear if she were subject

to gravity. When she first boarded the *Jones*, Bernstein

thought that Azaki would probably be the one she would get

along with best, but had quickly discovered that Azaki was

indeed the group's resident psycho. She slept unfettered by

the sleeping bags hung in the crew quarters, choosing to

float dangerously in free-fall instead. She had also quietly

come on to Bernstein just after takeoff from Wayne Station

two days previously. Bernstein was just *not* comfortable

with that.



    Then again, you *had* to be psycho to work in space.

That was still part of the job description. The *Davey

Jones* was a freelance salvage vessel under the jurisdiction

of NASA. Clark, Marcheau, and Azaki made their money by

locating lost or damaged satellites or space vessels. By

international law, they could resell what they found at a

significant profit. Companies wanted their old satellites

back or wanted cargo from abandoned shipping vessels. Rival

governments all wanted their adversaries old, outdated

military hardware. As passenger space voyages were becoming

more and more common, so were accidents. The *Davey Jones*

had even made quite a bit of money once, serving as a space

ambulance for a major airline company. After a few dozen

such missions, Clark and Marcheau owned the *Jones* outright

and Azaki had a significant stake in the business.



    They were like the oilmen of the twentieth century,

making money hand over fist in an insanely hazardous job,

but spending it in short, dangerous bursts because they

spent so much time working.



    Under the jurisdiction of NASA, however, the trio were

defacto military agents. Thus, their relatively low profile

and high expertise made them the perfect support crew for

her mission.



    "Good morning," Bernstein addressed the groggy trio.



    Marcheau began to swear in french, and downed a

steaming bulb of coffee.



    "Ah, chipper as always," Bernstein noted. "What do you

have planned for the day, Captain?"



    Clark scratched his side and yawned at some length.

"Well, first I thought we'd exhaust a lead or two on the

Hubble. After a few hours of that, there's an old ATT-MCOM

bird we have a standing contract for."



    Bernstein nodded. The Hubble Telescope was the Holy

Grail of space salvaging. It was knocked out of orbit in the

early 20's by a rouge solar storm well after the satellite

had lost all function. Most reasonable heads realized that

the satellite had either been completely destroyed, burned

up on reentry, or had been flung into the deep regions of

terrestrial space, above or below the solar plane. The

salvager scene, however, knew that somewhere, somehow, there

was the vaguest possibility that the Hubble was sitting in a

high orbit or a Lagrange balance point or some other hidden

safe spot. Most salvagers spent a few days every year

checking out confusing astronomical data or some other kind

of thin lead as to the telescope's location in hope of

winning the billion dollar prize from GatesTech. A few, like

Clark, had even promised the Smithsonian first bid instead

of the software giant.



    "After the fun and games then, my part of the mission

commences."



    "It would really help if we knew what the mission

was," Clark suggested. "I mean, I can't actually fly this

thing blindfolded. Almost, but..."



    Bernstein nodded again. "We're in a blackout right

now, and this is a 'need to know' situation. I hope that I

can trust all of you with national security?"



    "What if we blab?" Azaki asked, a manic grin on her

face.



    "I'd really hate to have to kill you, Kani," Bernstein

warned. "This is *highly* classified, and under provision 3-

14 of your NASA contracts, I'm activating the three of you

as federal agents."



    "You're under arrest, Lex," Clark warned. "I know

about your stash of 'medical' Tampiqua."



    "Ahh... fascist pig," the Frenchman complained

bitterly. "I know you steal scrambled broadcasts, then. You

don't even let me watch!"



    "Can we *please* cut the stupidity?" Bernstein said,

irritation creeping into her voice. "Can I trust you three,

or do we need to turn the ship around?"



    "Queen and country," Clark pledged, holding aloft

three fingers and folding his thumb in.



    "Viva la CIA," Marcheau agreed.



    Azaki posed dramatically in zero-g and rambled

something off in Japanese that Bernstein didn't understand,

but took as a qualified 'yes'.



    "At 18:00 hours, then, we're going to break Terran

orbit and set course for a high Lunar orbit. There's a

hidden U.S. space station in an luna-synchronous orbit

around the dark side. We'll be docking and making entry at

02:00 hours.



    "The nuclear platform!" Azaki guessed.



    "Huh?" Bernstein wondered aloud. "How did--"



    "Ah, but the space pirates have eyes in the backs of

their heads," Marcheau explained.

    

    Clark shook his head. "Actually, most salvagers think

that the U.S. has had a nuclear platform for some time. We

just didn't know where it was until now."



    "Well, as far as you're concerned," Bernstein said in

warning, "You still don't. Even the presidency disavows this

platform. This is the legacy of a black, black project,

understood?"



    Clark nodded. "Nukes, huh? How'd you get them up

there?"



    "What do you know about the START treaties?"



    Marcheau downed another coffee bulb. "Late twentieth

century, wasn't it? It was a treaty between Soviet Russia

and the U.S. that disassembled most short and medium range

nuclear capable missiles, if I remember my history lessons."



    "That's right," Bernstein said. "There were four

treaties in total although the U.S. only ever ratified the

first two. They disassembled missiles for decades in Texas."



    "I remember seeing the pit-mounds when I was a little

kid," Clark said.



    "That's the classified part," Bernstein explained.

"The U.S. government didn't really want to give up a second

strike advantage after the cold war, so the uranium pits

were never really buried. There was a secret *re-assembly*

plant in Colorado up until the mid 2030's. It replaced the

old 'Area 51' testing facility. They cleaned the pits and

put them back into redesigned warheads. Then, they shipped

them quietly up here during the construction of Challenger

station. It was quite an undertaking, when you consider that

the whole thing was 'black' and had to be conducted

clandestinely."



    "So what's the point?" Azaki asked. "That was fifty

years ago. With everybody's orbital laser stations in place

for 'national security', wouldn't nukes just be overkill?"



    Bernstein nodded. "Exactly, *but* the U.S. government

doesn't want to even acknowledge their presence. Right now,

the U.S. has a defendable monopoly on the Moon because of

the Johannesburg treaty, so we're not too concerned with

anyone else getting round to the dark side to find them.

Also there's the matter of the missiles' capabilities for

long-range attack on a NEA. Laser satellites won't knock an

asteroid out of orbit, you know."



    "Yeah! Rock! Nuke E.T.! So why are we going?" Clark

asked. "Shouldn't a system like that be completely

automated?"



    "That's the problem," Bernstein admitted. "It's fifty

years old. The station's software needs some updating and

some critical hardware needs to be replaced from stores.

Also, we need to scan for low-level leakage and chemical

decay from the weapons. After a certain amount of time, the

trigger explosives will decay enough so that the nuclear

weapons won't be so nuclear anymore. We have estimates, but

we need to confirm them."



    "So what if the nukes are bai-bai?" Azaki asked.



    "They probably won't be, but if I determine that

greater than 50% of the missiles are non-functional, we arm

the station's self destruct mechanism and watch the light

show from Terran orbit. Your superiors at NASA will claim

that an experimental mining probe hit a pocket of hydrogen

on the moon."



    "Oh my! That sounds just nifty!" Clark rubbed his

hands together in undisguised glee. "A thermonuclear light

show. Too bad I can't tell anybody in advance..."



    "That's what you're being paid for," Bernstein

continued. "This is a highly classified operation since

knowledge of a secret cache of nuclear weapons could really

harm the U.S.'s reputation in world affairs right now.

Before we go *any* further, I want you to understand that

you must *never* reveal what goes on tonight to anyone. It

was a 'government operation that you're not at liberty to

discuss'. Understood?

    

    Three heads bobbed up and down vigorously.



    "Lady," Marcheau quipped. "For three hundred and fifty

thousand dollars, I would deny both my parents and my little

cousin Rachel."



    "It's more like a three hundred after expenses," Azaki

corrected, "But that's still five times what we usually

manage to eke out."



    "Let's just say this, then," Bernstein continued. "If

this goes successfully, there will be other opportunities

for the *Davey Jones*."



    "Let's get the day started then," Clark commanded.

"You wanna start tracking down that spectrogram in the

Hubble table, Lex?"



    "Eh, whatever. God, I wish I could smoke in here."



    "Dirty French bastard," Clark teased.



    "Godless American pig," Marcheau parried.



    "Kani?" Clark looked around for the Japanese woman.



    "I'm gonna tear down the cargo hold before we try to

pull down the ATT bird. It's a big mother, and I don't want

it munging up my personal crates."



    "Go fer it," Clark acknowledged.



    "Hey, Sandi," Azaki addressed the CIA agent. "Wanna

help."



    "Uh, no." Bernstein blinked. She would never figure

out how Azaki had learned her first name.



    "I'm going to start programming the AT&T-MCOM response

codes into the signal generator for this afternoon, then,"

Clark said. "You can help me with some of the grunt work

until tonight."



    Bernstein nodded gratefully. Azaki just... frightened

her.



* * *



    Work on the AT&T satellite was mindlessly boring and

meticulous. First, Clark and Bernstein had to feed

proprietary communications protocols into their computer by

hand. Since the old protocols were proprietary *and* heavily

encrypted, it was simpler to transcribe a raw dump of the

binary code into the computer's memory. This required

Bernstein to key in filenames and parameters for the

protocol binaries for hours. Meanwhile, Clark was working on

fine tuning the *Jones's* computer hardware for the tasks of

actually sending signals to the aged satellite.



    All the while, Marcheau was carefully positioning and

repositioning the ship in order to get a better scan of a

very minuscule portion of space that more than likely did

not contain the missing Hubble Telescope.



    Azaki rocketed around the long ship's cargo hold like

a pinball on crack. She wore only a leotard and textured

rubber soled socks as she worked, forsaking any of the

protective gear any sane person like Bernstein would wear

one airlock away from the vacuous cold of raw space. The

floating boxes and plastic crates careened almost as wildly

as their mistress, but never quite impacted each other or

the bulkheads of the cargo bay.



    When it actually came time to grab the satellite, the

process of matching the *Jones's* orbit to that of the

defunct satellite was an long, tiring process.



    The *Davey Jones* bore a superficial resemblance to

the space shuttles used almost a century previously. Where

the *Jones* had a cockpit that looked similar to the space

shuttles, it had no wings attached to its long, cylindrical

body. Moreover, four ion-propulsion rockets protruded at 10

degree angles from the ship, while the cargo hold opened in

the back, rather than the top of the ship. This allowed for

much more cargo than a single satellite to be hauled around.

It also permitted for the use of an airlock between the

cargo bay and the outside environment. While the cargo hold

*could* be evacuated in the case of a piece of hardware too

long to fit entirely inside the airlock, the crew preferred

not to do it, since they kept refrigerated food and other

personal effects in the hold as well.



    Ringing around the cockpit once and the long shaft of

the ship were a series of over thirty-two smaller ion

rockets used for fine maneuvering and attitude control.



    The *Davey Jones* would *never* land on a planet or

survive a reentry burn. It did, however, do quite nicely at

the space port of Wayne Station, the giant U.S. owned wheel-

habitat the that salvagers called home in the rare moments

they weren't working.



    Matching velocities with the satellite required over

an hour of careful maneuvering by both Clark and Marcheau.

The dangers inherent to the operation were that they could

approach the satellite too quickly, hit it, and destroy it,

probably destroying the  *Jones* in the process. The other

danger was that they would overshoot and burn the satellite

with the ultra-hot ion beams that propelled them through

space.



    After the maneuvering, however, the satellite appeared

to be hanging motionlessly in space just above the *Jones*,

testifying to the crew's skills.



    At this point, both Clark and Azaki suited up to go

outside. The thin, multi-polimer space-suits were

comfortable and shielded them from the intense solar

radiation, but still had the drawbacks of any pressure suit.

The environment generator they had to wear like back-packs

would weigh an ungodly amount, and carried with them that

same inertia even in the weightlessness of free fall. While

the polymer fabric was resistant to tearing, even a small

hole could quickly rob one of the astronauts of their

precious air.



    Marcheau suited up in *just* the pressure suit part of

outfit with the knowledge that he could quickly don a helmet

and the environment pack in case of an emergency. Bernstein

took the opportunity to don her own G.I. pressure suit, just

in case.



    ~Ready to cycle the airlock,~ Clark announced through

his helmet's radio as he and Azaki took their positions in

the special corridor.



    ~My god... it's full of stars...~ Azaki muttered as

the two clipped themselves to the special rails on the back

of the ship amidst the backdrop of black velvet and

diamonds.



    "You're sooo funny, Kani," Marcheau said, sniping

through the commlink.



    ~C'mon hoss!~ she replied. ~We'n gotta get this'ern

heifer back to the corral 'afore sundown.~



    ~Head 'em up,~ Clark agreed in a deadpan. ~Move 'em

out.~



    The two walked over the top of the ship with the aid

of weak magnets in their boots. When they were standing

directly under the satellite, Clark unstrapped a long staff

from his back and held in front of him. Along with handles,

the staff had hooks for the pair to attach their safety

lines to. They were also outfitted with small tanks of

compressed, breathable air with access ports and directional

nozzles. It was sort of a dual-purpose system, providing a

limited use rocket and emergency air rations in the case of

an emergency.



    The actual recovery took only a few minutes. Using

their staves to push away from the *Jones*, Clark and Azaki

floated effortlessly over to the slowly tumbling satellite.

Clark reached it first, firing a small burst of air to slow

his approach just before he latched on to it. Azaki hit feet

first, bending her knees to absorb the kinetic energy. Both

attached secondary life-lines to latches on the satellites's

surface.



    It took Clark a few seconds to navigate over the

satellites surface, but he eventually found a service hatch.

He opened it and peered inside. After a few seconds, he took

a small, black package from a pouch on his pressure suit and

placed it inside the hatch. He spent a few seconds working

inside the hatch.



    ~'Bout ready for power, Kani?~ Clark asked through his

suit radio.



    ~The surface is in good condition, but the solar panel

has sustained some micro-meteorite damage,~ Azaki replied in

a business-like voice as she inspected the satellite. ~We

may have to sever it if it won't retract.~



    ~Understood,~ Clark acknowledged. ~Countdown to

auxiliary power, Lex?"



    Marcheau keyed in a sequence on a control pad that

triggered one of the monitors to display a countdown.



    "Thirty seconds," Marcheau announced.



    Clark unlatched himself from the satellite and very

carefully pushed away. Kani followed suit. Both used

carefully controlled bursts of air to halt their lateral

movement and tumbling in space.



    "Fifteen seconds."



    ~Clear,~ Azaki said.



    ~Me, too,~ Clark confirmed.



    "Five, four, three, two, one," Marcheau counted down.

He keyed in another sequence on his control pad. "Activating

auxiliary power."



    The only difference that Bernstein could see was that

a small indicator light was now visible on the surface of

the satellite. "What's all the extra precaution for?" she

asked.



    "Gremlins, Madame," Marcheau answered with a greasy

grin.



    Bernstein rolled her eyes.



    "Actually, quite a few older satellites used chemical

rockets instead of ion drives for orbit correction,"

Marcheau explained. "After power runs down, any kind of

spark could accidentally ignite the engines. It could be

very hazardous if they were in contact with the satellite

when that happens."



    "Oh."



    ~Issue retract command, Lex,~ Clark commanded.



    A few seconds later, most of the sensitive

instrumentation on the satellite retracted into it's body.

The exception was the solar panel arm that Azaki had been

worried about. It shook impotently in space. If one could

hear in a vacuum, they would probably be aware of a tiny

clicking noise as the motor worked against a damaged joint.



    Azaki lashed out and kicked the joint with the heel of

her pressure suit. Kani went tumbling, but the solar panel

began to retract.



    "Good job, Eedioh," Marcheau mumbled under his breath.

    

    ~So dizzy, Kaasan!~ Azaki burbled.



    ~Cut it out, Kani. You're gonna puke.~



    ~Never have before,~ the woman giggled, using her air

cylinder to bring her spinning to a stop.



    The process of actually moving the satellite back into

the *Jones* was fairly simple. Bernstein was a little

surprised at the crew's efficiency. After the satellite was

strapped into the cargo bay, Clark and Azaki rejoined the

two who had stayed on board in the cabin.



    "Okay, Major," Clark said, once the two were back

inside and out of their pressure suits. "It's your show

now."



    Bernstein inhaled deeply, smelling the peculiar mix of

rubber and ozone that permeated the cabin. She pulled a

small laserdisc out of her jump suit and handed it to Clark.

"Okay. We need to plot a long polar exit orbit and a

corresponding lunar entry orbit. That disc contains

acceptable flight trajectories."



    "Minimize Chinese, Korean and EU detection, huh?"

Clark guessed.



    "It should also completely avoid media detection,"

Bernstein confirmed. "We're just as concerned about Turner-

Murdoch creating a media circus as giving the Chinese hints

we've got a secret moonbase."



    "One of these days, Alice," Azaki growled, "BANG-POW-

ZOOM! To the Moon, Alice! To the Moon!"



    "Something like that," Marcheau commented. "I'll start

the trajectory plotter," he said, snagging the disc out of

mid-air, where Clark left it floating.



    "And I'll break orbit," Clark volunteered. "Been a

while since we've been to the moon.



    Strangely, no one objected when Kani began to play old

Pink Floyd recordings on the *Jones's* sound system.



* * *



    Of all the worlds in the Solar System, one of the most

*useless* was Luna. Early researchers hoped to prove that

there were large quantities of water and other precious

material buried under the surface. Military and Scientific

interest in the moon rested almost entirely in the notion

that the moon could be used as a refueling or construction

station for intra-solar and interstellar spacecraft.

Unfortunately, however, the traces of water, gold, copper,

iron and the like were minuscule.



    Cost-wise, it was more feasible to build a space

station and begin the arduous task of mining operations on

Mars.



    The moon was frequently used for navigation purposes.

If you used the moon's gravitational field to 'slingshot'

you out of orbit, you could save fuel and time when

travelling to the other worlds. Other than that, there

wasn't any real reason to visit. In fact, no human had even

*bothered* to actually set foot on the Moon since the

1970's. It just wasn't as profitable as Martian or Europan

exploration.



    The Johannesburg Treaty was signed and ratified by

most UN members in 2032. It gave the rights for construction

of Challenger and Wayne Stations at Earth-Moon Lagrange 1

and 3 to the United States. It also solidified the U.S.'s

claim on the moon for 'university reasearch' purposes in

exchange for a moratorium on U.S. construction in Lagrange

2, 4, 5, and 6. Any other U.S. controlled space habitats

would have to be built in high geo-synchronous orbits, and

no one could land on Luna without the U.S. government's

permission. So far, nobody had even asked, looking instead

toward the red planet and the Jovan satellites.



    In fact, the only thing the Moon was good for was

looking down on Earth.



    If you're a sniper, you always want to be looking down

on your target.



* * *



    In space... nobody can hear you twitch your nose.



    "Wake up, Sandi,"



    Bernstein scratched her nose in her sleep.



    "It's almost two A.M., and we can't see the platform."



    Sandra woke up to see a pair of large brown eyes

staring directly into her own.



    "YAAAHHH!!!"



    Kani's nose twitched again, and a wicked smiled played

across her lips as she stared into the other woman's face.



    "Quit teasing the major," Marcheau suggested from his

seat in the cockpit. "We could use you without the bullet

holes, thank you."



    After Bernstein calmed down, she made her way up to

the cockpit, where Clark and Marcheau were monitoring their

progress.



    "You're sure it's here?" Clark asked.



    "It's disguised," Bernstein said. "Or else the U.S.

would have had to have found a way to prevent lunar orbits."

    

    Clark cocked his head to one side. "Well, I can't dock

with a space platform I can't see, so..."



    "The orbit detailed on the disk I gave you *should*

bring us within ten kilometers of the platform," she said.

"Your mass sensors should detect it at that point."



    "She's right," Marcheau said. "The belly sensor just

started to  pick up a large, metallic structure."



    "We'll have triangulation in a few minutes," Clark

said. "We may have to make another orbit for course

corrections."



    Azaki, who was floating behind the three, did some

quick math in her head. "Let's get suited up, then. It will

only be another half-hour or so, even if we make another

orbit."



    "Don't you three ever rest?" Bernstein asked as she

and Kani put their pressure suits back on.



    "This *is* rest," Kani explained. "Sure, we'll be up a

little late, but we'll take turns dozing on the way back."



    "It's two in the morning and she says 'a little'

late," Bernstein mumbled.



    "You've just spent too much time under military

supervision, Sandi-chan," Azaki teased.



    Bernstein winced at the honorific Azaki added to her

name. She didn't know much Japanese, but she happened to

know that 'chan' was an affectionate title.



    "'Day' on Wayne station is forty-two hours," the

shorter woman explained. "I can do that on two or three cat

naps if I have to. I've heard that some of the Europa camps

work on a fifty-seven hour day."



    "Uhhh..."



    "It sure as hell doesn't show up on radar," Clark

called back, "and we can't see it, but it registers on the

mass sensors. We have triangulation now."



    "It was constructed using 90's era stealth

technology," Bernstein explained, thankful for the break in

her other conversation. "Particle ranging and mass detectors

have rendered most of that technology obsolete. Particle

range finders can only be used inside earth's atmosphere,

and you have to be so close to an object for mass detection

that it's just not an issue up here."



    "Beginning orbit correction," Marcheau murmured as his

fingers flew over the controls.



    The *Jones* did indeed swing once around the light

side of the moon before approaching the hidden station

again. This time, it approached closely enough that the

*Jones's* occupants could see the grey and black structure

as it hovered in the *Jones's* spotlights. It was

irregularly shaped and appeared to have be made all of

oblique angles and curves. The *Jones* drifted in silently,

lights playing across the surface.



    There was no sign of activity or life. Unlike Wayne

Station, where there was always a docking or EVA in

progress, there was no action to this place. Clark had to

remind himself that it was constructed before he was born

and that no human had set foot here for dozens and dozens of

years.



    Upon seeing it, Azaki's expression narrowed, her eyes

hardening. "What's wrong with it?" she demanded.



    The mood inside the cabin shifted. To Bernstein, it

felt as if the temperature had suddenly dropped by several

degrees..



    "What do you mean?" she asked. "I don't think there's

anything--"



    "When you think about that fact that this monster was

designed to kill an entire nation," Marcheau said quietly,

"It does look a little horrific. I hope you do blow it up."



    "I agree," Clark said quietly. "Better a pretty light

show than a nuclear accident.



    Bernstein kept her mouth closed. How could an

inanimate hunk of metal and plastic be 'evil'?



    "There," she said, pointing at an oddly shaped

protrusion on the camouflaged hull of the platform. "That's

the dock."



    "I see it," Clark said.



    "I've got a really bad feeling about this," Azaki

said. "Let's go home."



    "And lose all that wonderful pay?" Marcheau asked in a

tone that indicated he was seriously considering it as well.



    "C'mon, people. It's just irregularly shaped,"

Bernstein tried to calm the group. "Not every space station

is going to look like a silver doughnut, okay?"



    "Beginning docking," Clark informed the group. "We

have to decelerate, so find something to hold on to."



    Bernstein nodded, latching her arm around a hand-rail

and bracing her knees against the back of Clark's command

seat.



    When the forward thrusters fired, there was a pull and

a falling sensation, as if the *Jones* had flipped end over

end and was now hurtling towards the moon's surface.



    The feeling quickly faded, and the *Jones* touched the

hidden dock with a barely audible thud.



    "Another perfect landing," Clark joked. Seeing Azaki's

stricken face, he grimaced. "Let's get this over with as

soon as possible, so we can go home and cash our checks."



    "Understood," she said.



* * *



    The airlock procedure was straight forward, and within

seconds, they were inside the station.



    Clark performed an oxygen test, which allowed them to

shut off their air supplies, but Bernstein argued against

removing the bulky pressure suits because of the intense

cold. Unlike Wayne station, the nuclear platform was neither

constantly exposed to sunlight or artificially heated. The

temperature of the air would be enough to freeze the

perspiration on their skin.



    Luckily, also unlike Wayne station, the platform did

not spin in space, and therefore had no gravity.



    Bernstein loaded a digital map of the station on four

display tablets and handed one to each of the *Jones's* crew

members.



    "There are four main corridors," she audible through

both her helmet's commlink and the thin, cold atmosphere

surrounding their pressure suits, "and a long corridor that

runs along the hull. A survey of the station's bridge isn't

necessary, and the corridor opposite it just leads to the

old quarters for the construction crew. We're interested in

the top and bottom corridors. The top corridor leads to the

engineering control rooms. Captain Clark, you and Kani will

check out those. Look for any structural damage, and then

install the software on disc alpha--"



    Clark held up the CD case she had given him earlier.



    "--Into the main system terminal located here, at the

flashing dot. If there is a problem with the terminal's

monitor, you can disconnect any of the other CRT's in the

room and use it as a replacement. The corridors you'll need

are marked in red on the map.



    "Alexi and I will proceed down the other corridor.

Marcheau will check for structural damage here," she said,

pointing to two hexagonal shapes on the map, "in the orbit

correction thrusters."



    "So what are all the circle for," the Frenchman asked,

pointing to a bank of forty-eight small circles.



    "Those are the missile banks," Bernstein noted with a

grin.



    "Wait a second," Clark protested, the helmet mic

cutting out briefly as he shouted. "I parked our only ride

over armed *nuclear missile silos*?!"



    "Theoretically, so much of the station would be

destroyed when the missiles were launched," Bernstein noted.

"that you're supposed evacuate the station and issue launch

signals from Earth or a high lunar orbit. Would you really

want to return to earth so soon after you nuked it, anyway?"



    "This place is really evil, Alan," Azaki noted,

hanging upside down in front of her coworkers. "Let's hurry

and get this done with."



    "If there's an emergency, there are four airlocks at

the ends of the corridors," Clark amended. "They can

probably hold air for as long as you like. How's radio

contact going to be around those missiles?" he asked

Bernstein.



    "Okay, but not great. There is a *lot* of shielding

there, so we can expect brief periods of blackout."



    "Let's get to work," Marcheau suggested. "The sooner

this is done with, the sooner I can spend my money."



    The four split up. Clark and Azaki proceeded down one

long corridor, pushing themselves along the endless

featureless bulkheads. After a few minutes, Kani's mood

seemed to lighten somewhat, and she began to perform

gymnastics, bouncing from wall to wall and turning

somersaults as they went.



    "Hey, Kani," Clark asked. "You hear the one about the

nun, the station administrator, and the two gerbils?"



    "About a dozen times, but tell it to me again anyway."



    * * *



    About a hundred yards into the corridor, Marcheau and

Bernstein found themselves in a rapidly darkening situation.



    "Power outage?" Marcheau asked, tapping a control on

the forearm of his pressure suit. An argon lamp lit up on

the front of his helmet, casting an eerie blue glow around

them."



    "It's more likely to be a drained battery. Because

it's a stealth design, solar panels weren't really an option

when they built this thing. With a few exceptions, most of

the station's electric cells are radioactive. It's

conceivable that a few of them are exhausted after all this

time."



    "So that could mean we're walking directly into a

radioactive leak," Marcheau hazarded more in irritation that

concern.



    "I don't think so. The *Davey Jones* is equipped with

radiation sensors. We probably would have detected any leaks

before docking. Besides, any battery that isn't producing a

current is jettisoned and falls to the moon."



    "Nuke the moon. American practicality never ceases to

amaze me," Marcheau snapped.



    Bernstein realized that the man enjoyed complaining,

so she ignored his comments. "Why is Kani so upset?"



    "She's psychic," Marcheau answered.



    "Really," Bernstein stated in a deadpan as they

floated along.



    "If Kani can be believed, her father was a Buddhist

priest," Marcheau explained, "and her mother worked in a

shrine while she was growing up. She really does believe in

spirits and demons and things. Les ordinaturs de secours,"

he pronounced in French. "When we finally paid the note off

on the *Jones*, she locked us out for a week while she

burned incense and performed purification rituals."



    "So you think she saw a ghost here?"



    "Like you said," Marcheau continued. "It's probably

because the platform looks so alien from the outside. It

would creep anyone out."



    The two finally came to an intersection between the

large corridor and a smaller one.



    "This is where we split up, Madame," Marcheau guessed.

"Don't trigger any nuclear explosions."



    Bernstein rolled her eyes. She pushed off the bulkhead

and rocketed down the corridor.



    Marcheau watched the light from her helmet recede into

the distance and disappear altogether once she turned a

corner.



    He took a deep breath and continued on his way.



* * *



    ~ZZZTT... Alan, are you there?~



    "I'm here, 'Lex. Just logging into this terminal.

Kani's checking for damage around ops."



    ~I've just split up with the illustrious major. It's

dark in here. I think there is a power outage or hull damage

in this quadrant of the platform.~



    "Hey, cool! GatesOS 33. It's even got a copy of the

original Microsoft Minesweeper installed. What a relic!"



    ~Are you listening to me? I'm starting to agree with

Kani about this job.~



    "Power outage, right, 'Lex. Well, regardless of what

the major says, turn around if you start to feel

uncomfortable with the situation. No amount of money is

worth our safety."



    ~Maybe your safety,~ Marcheau stated after several

seconds of silence. ~It's a hell of a lot of money, Alan.~



    "Two flags there, so there can't be mine here... Damn

it! Well, if you get spooked, turn around and we'll all go

down there together after I get this software copied over."



    ~Copy,~ Marcheau agreed.



    Watching the progress meter crawl across the screen,

Captain Clark hit the 'transmit all' button on his forearm

and spoke into the helmet microphone. "Major Bernstein,

report on your position, please."



    ~FFFFFZZZT--SSSSZZHZHHH--eavy radiation sh--ZZZZTTTTT-

- Just barely re--FFFFFFSSSSSSS~ her reply came back, almost

inaudible for the various static cracks and pops.



    ~Sounds like she's behind the nukes,~ Kani guessed

from the next room.



    ~It was to be expected,~ Marcheau agreed.



    "Major," Clark repeated, speaking as loudly as he

could without static. "Alexi Marcheau has reported a power

failure in his quadrant. Is there power and light in the

nuclear silos?"



    ~FFFHFHFHHSSSSSHHHHHHZZZZZZZ--~



    ~Two hundred tons of lead and cobalt shielding will do

that to a transmission,~ Kani noted.



    Clark rolled his eyes. For the first time, even though

the mission was going nominally as expected, he began to

feel concerned.



    "'Lex. You hurry up and get done, and head back to the

central room," he commanded. "I'm going to let this software

install itself so I help Kani get the damage check done with

ASAP."



    ~Understood, Captain,~ Marcheau responded.



* * *

    

    ~ZZZZZZZZ--jor Berns--ZZZZZZZZ--eport on yo--

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ~ Captain Clark's distorted voice sounded

out over Bernstein's suit radio.

    "Please repeat, Captain. The heavy radiation shielding

may be interfering. I can just barely read you."



    ~ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ~



    A loud, static hum was her only response. She turned

down the volume on her radio since the hum was so loud, and

checked the radiation sensor on her right wrist. Radiation

levels were slightly higher near the weapons, but still well

within a safe zone.



    The lights were back in the missile area, and none of

the torpedos showed any sign of damage or decay. She was

taking a small sample of the weapons, using diagnostic

control panels built into them, but it appeared that most

were still in good working order.



    ~...firepower to mount a global war...~ she heard a

low, distorted voice whisper over the constant hum on her

suit radio.



    Funny, she had just been thinking that same silly

thought. "Kani?" she called out, hitting the 'transmit all'

button on her radio. "Please repeat transmission. Captain

Clark?"



    ~...can't hear me through the shielding...~ the voice

came back on the radio.



    "I'm hearing things."



    ~...hearing things...~ sounded out through the static.

~...creepy...~.



    Bernstein felt her heart begin to pound. She hit the

transmit button again, and turned on a locater beacon.

"Captain Clark. I'm experiencing severe interference and a

possible communications malfunction due to radiation and

shielding. I'm switching off my radio and activating a

signal beacon with a recording of this message in case of

emergency. I will continue to inspect the nuclear weapons

and meet you in the central chamber at 0500 hundred hours."



    She repeated her message and switched off the radio,

cutting off the electric hum before her own distorted words

were reflected back at her.



    The absolute silence wasn't much better than the

distorted static. At least she couldn't hear the odd,

chilling sound of her own voice whispered back at her.



    Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw a

flash of motion.



    "Marcheau?" She called out, whipping around. "Kani?"



    She turned a complete circle, looking around her, but

all she could see were racks and racks of missiles in all

directions. Sighing, she thought to herself that the fuss

Kani made earlier was getting to her. It was the middle of

the night, Bernstein had only had a few hours sleep.



    "Calm down, girl. Don't let Kani's superstitions get

to you."



    She checked a few more missiles, noting that they were

all in good condition, if a bit dusty.



    She saw another flash of movement and whirled before

it could get away.

    

    "I see you, Marcheau! This is no time for practical

jokes!"



    It wasn't Marcheau. At first, she thought it was a

small rabbit, but then quickly revised her opinion.



    The creature was fairly small, and shaped rather like

a bunny. It had a short face with long, floppy ears, large

black eyes and small, stubby legs. It had thick fur and was

adorably cute.



    "Oh my! how can you survive in this cold?"



    A glance at the instruments on her right arm, however,

indicated that it was no longer that cold. The temperature

had somehow risen until it was almost temperate.



    "How strange," she murmured. "Come here," she

murmured, gesturing to the creature. Shyly, but then more

confidently, it edged out from behind the missile rack it

was hiding behind and sniffed at Bernstein's glove as she

kneeled.



    "What are you, dear one?" she asked in a quiet voice.



    The creature had no discernable toes on it's stubby

feet, but its nose and whiskers twitched almost constantly.

She picked up the animal, and laughed as it pawed cutely at

her faceplate.



    She turned her radio transmitter on, without turning

the speakers on.



    "Captain Clark. I'm transmitting in send-only mode

because of the interference, but I believe I've found a

animal of some sort in the missile silo area. It may be the

mutant descendant of a pet rabbit one of the construction

workers brought on board when the platform was originally

constructed.



    "It appears to be unusually warm in this section of

the platform, but I'm not registering any high levels of

radiation. There may be a malfunctioning space heater

nearby. I'm going to check it out. There may be more of

these creatures in residence, too. We may want to collect--"



    Bernstein's eyes rolled up into the back of her head,

and she fell forward, cracking her faceplate on the hard

metal floor of the station.



    The rabbit-like creature hopped away. Seconds later,

it was rejoined next to Bernstein's unconscious body by

dozens more just like it.



* * *



    "Alan," Azaki called out. "There's some weird cable

damage in here."



    ~What's it look like?~ the captain's reply came back.



    "Well, the cables are frayed... and there is paper

insulation scattered all around. If I didn't know better, I

would say it looked like a rat tried to make a nest in

here."



    ~It's possible that it happened before the platform

cooled down,~ Clark said. ~A mouse gets into the food

shipment, and then gets loose into the interior of the

station. When everybody left and turned the thermostat down

behind them, it looked for a warm place. Cabling and

computer equipment stay pretty warm, so it stays there until

it freezes to death.~



    "Possibly," Azaki admitted, her voice full of

suspicion. "But why don't I like that answer?"



    ~Open up a few service plates and see if you can find

some rodent-sicles,~ Clark suggested. ~Hey, 'Lex, any signs

of rodent infestation in your quadrant?~



    ~Non. Pas un souris. Not that that means anything. I

can barely see the thrusters, not to mention finding any

damage.~



    ~Still dark, huh?~ Clark asked.



    "The software may fix that," Azaki said. "But I

wouldn't be surprised to find chewed-through cables."



    ~Funny,~ Clark murmured.



    "What?"



    ~I just found a chewed through cable in here, too. A

power cord.~



    "Is there a dead rodent there?" Azaki asked.



    ~That's the funny thing,~ Clark said. ~There are

chewed-through wires, but no electrocuted body. Power,

return and ground are both cleanly separated. Whatever did

this got a nasty shock.~



    ~I can't see anything down here! This is useless,~

Marcheau complained in an agitated. ~I'm coming back.~



    ~Go straight to the *Jones*,~ Clark commanded. ~I want

the drives warmed up and ready to go.~



    ~Understood.~



    Azaki shook her head, noting the damaged cable on the

computer tablet she held in one hand. As there was nothing

else in the room of note, she floated back over to the door

and hit the open button.



    After a few seconds, she knew all her fears had been

realized.



    "I'm stuck in here, Alan!" she yelled.



    ~What?~



    "The door won't open, and I'm not strong enough to

push it. Get me out of here, Alan!"



    ~I'm coming!~



    *WHAM*



    ~What was that?~ Marcheau asked.



    ~Get to the *Jones*, NOW, Alexi!~ Clark commanded. ~A

security barrier just dropped into place out here. I'm cut

off from Kani!~



    ~I'll come to help!~



    "No, 'Lex!" Kani shouted. "You'll just get trapped,

too. Get out of here!"



    Kani looked around wildly for a manual release lever

or anything else that might help.



    ~There should be a hidden ventilation duct above the

door, Kani,~ Clark said in a calm voice. ~All 30's and 40's

era military facilities had one.~



    "I see it," Azaki said, pushing herself into position

above the door. It's the same color as the wall, but I can

pull it away slightly."



    ~It should open up into the corridor. You'll still be

cut off, but you can go around the long way, through the

corridor against the hull.~



    "I understand," she said, pulling with all her might.

The panel came loose with a sharp snap, sending her

rocketing across the room. She turned a somersault,

absorbing some of the kinetic energy, and dragged the toes

of her boots against the ceiling to slow herself.



    Pushing off as hard as she could, she sailed through

the new hole in the wall and impacted the other side with

her foot. She only had to repeat the process once before she

was tumbling outside the room.



    She could see the security barrier now. It was a

large, steel wall. The idea, of course, was to prevent

depressurization in case of of hull breach. It also served

to prevent fire spreading. Right now, it was preventing Kani

from getting back to her ship.



    "The long way around, huh?"



    She checked her computer tablet for the map Bernstein

gave them.  'The long way' involved travelling under the

launch silos and trough the shielded area from behind which

they had last heard from the major.



    "Lovely."



    ~I'll try to meet you,~ Clark said. Hurry!~



    "I'll--"



    The entire platform began to shake. With a low boom,

they both felt an intense jolt.



    ~'Lex?~ Clark asked. ~You in the *Jones* yet?~



    ~Oui. I just made it," he replied, his accent

thickening in his haste. ~Did you feel that? A large portion

of the platform's hull just jettisoned. The missile silos

are now exposed!~



    "The software?" Kani asked, already rocketing down the

corridor as fast as she could.



    Clark swore under his breath. ~Major Bernstein! I am

abandoning this mission! My crew is in danger! Report at

once!~



    ~Ground Control to Major Tom...~ Azaki sang as she

flew.



    ~Report, Major!~ Clark yelled, as the station started

to shudder again. ~We're abandoning this platform!~



    ~We are so screwed,~ Marcheau reported in a calm,

defeated voice. ~Guess what just came out of the missile

silos.~





* * *



    Clark gulped, hoping against hope that his copilot was

seeing things. "Tell me it's Bernstein," he said hopefully.

"She had to eject?"



    ~Sorry.~ Marcheau replied.



    "Which direction is the missile headed?" Clark asked,

a burning feeling in his gut.



    ~Straight into space, for the time being,~ Marcheau

replied. ~Considering that these missiles were designed to

reach orbit before making course correction, I wouldn't

count that as cause for relief yet.~



    ~This is ground control to Major Tom,~ Azaki sang,

~Take your protein pills and put your helmet on.~



    ~ZZZSSSHHHHTTT--epeat, I'm switching off my--

SSSSSSSSSSHHHTTT!~



    "What is that?" Clark yelled. "Bernstein?"



    ~Ground Control to Major Tom,~ Azaki continued.

~Commencing countdown, engines on. Check ignition and may

God's love be with you...~



    "Kani?"



    ~Alan, I can't make it past the nukes,~ she replied.

~There's another security barrier up ahead. I'm going back

to the airlock.~



    "Kani..." Clark shuddered, using a handhold to slow

his forward progress.



    ~This is Ground Control to Major Tom,~ she replied.

~You've really made the grade, and the papers want to know

whose shirts you wear...~



    Another shudder ripped through the platform. All the

lights around Clark went off. He pushed his feet against the

wall of the corridor to slow himself down.



    He felt a crunch. Not knowing, and afraid to shine his

lights on what he had just stepped on," he found the

handhold and used it to rocket himself back up the corridor.



    "Kani," Clark shouted, headed back for the corridor

that would take him to the *Jones*. "There should be a

pneumatic release inside the airlock. If you can get to it,

and stay in one piece during decompression, you'll be thrown

clear of the station, and we can pick you up in the

*Jones*."



    ~Sayonara, Sandi-chan,~ Azaki whispered.



    "Kani!" Clark shouted.



* * *



    When she reached the airlock, Azaki saw a pressure-

suited body floating inside. She gulped and continued to

sing. Once inside, she recognized it as Bernstein's. Her

face was bleeding badly and her faceplate was cracked in

several places.



    ~Kani,~ Clark shouted through her radio. ~There should

a pneumatic release inside the airlock. If you can get to it

and stay in one piece during decompression, you'll be thrown

clear of the station We can pick you up in the *Jones*.~



    She quickly found the 'emergency release' lever, but

realized that Bernstein's faceplate would probably explode

under the pressure once they were out in space.



    She began to hear and feel a low thrumming,

transmitted through the air. It was rapidly beginning to

heat up, as well. Her suit instruments read the ambient

temperature as more than 30 degrees Celsius and rising.



    Making a decision, she touched her gloved fingers to

Bernstein's faceplate.



    "Sayonara, Sandi-chan," she murmured sadly.



    She clutched the woman's head to her own chest,

holding the fractured faceplate against the fabric of her

own pressure suit. With a determined expression, she reached

out and wrenched the lever into place.



    "Countdown to evacuation," a recorded voice called

out. "Five, four, three,"



    "Now it's time to leave the capsule if you dare!"

Azaki wailed. "This is Major Tom to--URK!!!"



    The force was incredible. Azaki hadn't felt anything

like it, even on the brief occasions when she travelled from

Wayne station to her home on earth via conventional shuttle.



    The moisture in the air crystallized around her as she

and the larger woman were blown out into space. She

struggled to keep her arms firmly latched around Bernstein's

damaged helmet.



    "Major Tom to ground control," she choked out. "I'm

stepping through the door, and I'm floating in a most

peculiar way, and the stars look very different today..."



    She floated freely. Bringing her head up, she could

see the alien looking space station receding below her.

There was movement in the cockpit of the *Jones*. Vaguely,

she wondered if Captain Clark made it back before he was

trapped.



    "For here, am I sitting in a tin can, Far above the

world. Planet Earth is blue, and there's nothing I can do--"



    *CRACK*



    At first, Kani thought she that Bernstein's faceplate

had given way, but then the searing pain in her back and

arms told her she had hit something.



    ~Kani?! Do you read?! Kani!~ Clark's voice called out

across the distance between them.



    "I'm alive," she whispered, "but injured. I hit some

of the debris from the platform's hull." She felt a cold,

wet, sticky feeling begin to fill her suit around the waist.

"Please hurry," she said. "I think I broke my arm, and I'm

bleeding. My suit may have been punctured."



    * * *



    Clark wasn't sure how he made it back to the *Jones*

in the nigh-absolute darkness. He did, however, and threw

himself at the controls, still clad in pressure suit and

helmet.



    "Countdown?" Alexi asked.



    "No time," he replied, hitting the docking release

toggle.



    They heard a loud cry over the intercom.



    "Kani?!" Clark shouted. "Do you read?! Kani!"



    "I'm alive, but injured," she whispered after several

seconds in a pained voice. "I hit some of the debris from

the platform's hull. Please hurry. I think I broke my arm,

and I'm bleeding."



    Not hearing the rest of her plea, Alan throttled the

attitude engines to move them away from the hostile station.

Kani, and the hull debris was almost a kilometer above them.



    "Radiation sensors are starting to go off!" Marcheau

yelled. "The weapons?"



    Clark didn't answer. He was busy aligning the *Jones*

with the space debris.



    "I'm almost there, Kani!" he shouted. "Just hold on!"



    Azaki and Bernstein's pressure suits became visible

from the cockpit window. Jones maneuvered as close as he

dared, as quickly as he dared. He leapt for the back of the

ship.



    Seconds later, Clark appeared in front of the *Jones*

on a long tether. He scooped up both women and disappeared

from view again.



    "Alan!" Marcheau cried, seeing the radiation sensors

peak. "Get back in here! We have to go! The station's about

to go up!"



    ~I'm in! Go!~ Clark shouted.



    Alexi didn't even bother to use the navigational

computer to calculate a good orbit. He levered the main

drive thruster all the way down, and took manual control of

the attitude thrusters.



    The space platform exploded in a nuclear fireball. A

radial shock wave rolled out parallel to the surface of the

moon.



    Alexi rolled the *Jones* downwards to Luna, thankful

for the planetoid's lack of atmosphere. Pushing the drive

it's limit, Marcheau began to feel the *Jones* buck and

shake in the moon's weak gravity.



    "Now!" Clark shouted, climbing into the cockpit

against the massive acceleration.



    Marcheau nodded, and shifted the attitude thrusters.

Propelled by the moon's gravity, the action whipped them

into a higher orbit, but around to the moon's light side at

over fifty times the speed of sound.



    As they moved further and further away from the moon's

terminator line, the two could see the nuclear shockwave of

superheated debris and gas expand out behind them.



    The two sat in silence for several seconds, the moon

receding in the digital displays and empty space greeting

them through the cockpit windshield.



    "That... That was a very close thing," Marcheau noted,

pulling a cigarette out of his pocket. He lit up and inhaled

deeply.





* * *



    Kani and Bernstein were admitted to emergency hospital

services as soon as the *Jones* found its way back to Wayne

station. Kani had indeed broken her arm and two ribs. She

suffered a deep puncture wound to her back, but the blood

froze in the cold of space, effectively sealing the wound

and keeping her from bleeding to death.



    Bernstein was catatonic. Her head injury was not bad,

just a minor laceration of her scalp, but she wouldn't

respond to any kind of stimulus. Her pupils were completely

dilated, and she had no reflex response of any kind.



    She did have some weak brain activity, and a good,

steady heartbeat, so the neurologist assigned to her

diagnosed her with acute neural shock. She would just have

to be given time to recover. Whether or not she would

recover was still up in the air.



    Only a few minutes after being checked out by doctors

for any other injuries,including radiation poisoning, Clark

and Marcheau were accosted by several men in dark suits.

Just outside the hospital complex located near Wayne

Station's docking ring. One of the men flashed a military ID

at them.



    Exhausted and sore from their travails, the business

partners allowed themselves to be led up one of the long

elevators that led to the station's low-gravity hub.



    They were ushered into an office occupied by a man in

a military uniform. He stood as they entered and shook both

men's hands.



    "Gentlemen," the military officer greeted them. "I'm

General Kline, USSF on special duty for the CIA."



    "General," Clark replied distrustfully.



    "Wonderful," Alexi snapped. "We barely escaped with

our lives, and now we're going to be interrogated."



    "Ah... well... we were planning to debrief the two of

you as to what you experienced... aboard the installation,"

he said hesitantly. "But first I'd like to thank you for

saving Major Bernstein's life."



    Alan shrugged, feeling a little bit worn down. "She

still may not live."



    "Even if she doesn't," the general said, "You

recovered her body. Either way, we may find evidence as to

who... or what assaulted her."



    "What?" Marcheau asked.



    "The missile," Clark remembered with a start. "A

missile was fired from the station before it exploded."



    "Exactly," General Kline responded. "We, as well as

the Chinese and Japanese governments tracked it after it

entered Terran orbit. At critical moments, our orbital laser

batteries failed to destroy it. We don't know why. What we

do know is that it crashed in Death Valley *without*

detonating."



    "Mon dieu!" Marcheau swore.



    "When investigators arrived," Kline continued. "There

was no evidence of either a warhead or debris from a

warhead."



    For the first time, Clark remembered the sickening

crunch just after the lights went out aboard the nuclear

platform.



    Not having switched into regular shoes yet from the

boots that went along with his pressure suit, he sat down in

the middle of the floor. After wrenching one off, he

examined the sole. It was covered in sticky black fluid.



    "Well," the general said, leaning back in his seat.



    "I don't know what it was," Clark admitted, staring in

muted horror at the crusted black blood on his boot. "It was

dark, but... I remember it making a sound when I crushed it.

There was something *alive* on the nuclear platform... and

it *didn't* come from Earth."



...To Be Continued.



------------------------------



Alan, Alexi, Kani, Sandra, other characters and locations

used in 'Salvage' are mine. Usually at this point, an author

would demand that no one use the characters or other goodies

without permission. Not me. Nope. You can use them in your

stories or other media as cameos or main characters. I do

request you drop me a line if you do so that I can see them.



I *am* going to apply this limitation. You may not receive

monetary compensation for using Captain Clark and the others

in stories or other media. (That implies that you may not

receive any monetary compensation for posting this story on

your site or publishing it in a magazine.) Other than that,

feel free to do with them as you will.

* * *



C. Jones - guilty@furinkan.net

http://www.furinkan.net



Watashi ha ultra-relakusu!