A Job Is Born

Posted on Fri Apr 23rd, 2021 @ 1:38pm by Commanding Officer Mickey Serendipity & Executive Officer Kenneth McTigue

Mission: Ring's Of Gold & Palladium
Location: Interplanetary Space Administration, Industrial Two, Rhea, Saturnian Confederacy
Timeline: Following 'Udderly Unbelievable'.

The tram ride from Industrial Six to Industrial Two was boring as sin. You took a seat in a crowded express train, strapped in, took on a gee of acceleration as the train sped up and then the same an hour later than the train slowed. All the while the wall screens portrayed the various investment opportunities in the Industrial Two economy. Aquaponic's was big business apparently.

That certainly explained the salty brine smell in the air, that not even the most expensive air filtration system could get rid of. From the tram station through the commerce levels to the buried office complexes of the business zones, it seemed every street vendor and huckster was trying to sell a different scent to filter your air with. Cinnamon, turmeric, even the gun powder tang of Luna.

The Interplanetary Space Administration officers were a modest complex occupying the mid-levels of the buried settlement. Within were all the various organs of a multi-planetary organisation dedicated to the smooth exploration of the solar system. It took on the role of a licence holder for a number of governments, as well as providing the working groups that came up with the lions share of navigation and shipping codes.

After all, someone had to keep the comet's tagged, and no one wanted the job except the ISA.

"Considering they are the only job listing that's responded," Mickey said as he wandered the waiting room. A video wall was displaying the local news feed, running a story on the Eros impact crater still burning on the surface of Venus. "That might say something about the level of shit we're in. The ISA's one step away from being a charity."

Ken sat in a chair looking at Mickey's wandering. He had been reading the outpouring of love and concern from his extended family on Earth for a few minutes before Mickey spoke. "If it's charity or smuggling, I think I'll go with charity. If only this time."

"Yeah our karmic account could use a few drops of black ink to make up for the red," Mickey muttered as he ran a hand through his close-cropped hair. As he turned to continue his thoughts on the subject a door opened and an aide beckoned them through into a modest conference room.

And by modest it could also have been mistaken for the employee break room. Coffee stains had branded themselves onto the tabletop from almost a century of use, and the chairs themselves were a collection of cast-offs. Clearly, whatever funding the ISA was getting, it was putting into the nuts and bolts of their operation and not the creature comforts.

"Ah welcome, welcome," a blocky short-statured Earth half stood from his chair on one side of the table, a sheaf of data terminals and holographic displays spread out before him. Receding hairline, with eyes peering out from behind glasses that did not flicker with data overlays, it seemed the ISA also picked its employees from the same place it did the furniture. "Please, have a seat. Can I have someone bring you some water?"

"Coffee?" Mickey enquired.

"Yes..." the man said as he sat back down, teasing the word out as though testing it for tensile integrity. "But if I'm honest I wouldn't risk it. We only have freeze-dried artificial coffee and it has far better uses than for consumption. It makes excellent anti-spalling padding though."

"Water is good," Mickey said as he took a seat. "Ken?"

Ken had seated himself before Mickey and looked at Walter. "Yes, thank you."

"Allow me to introduce myself, I'm Walter Haystacks, section manager for the Indie 6 branch of the ISA. I was also the one who invited you here to discuss the terms of the operation contract we wish to employ you on," Water said.

"The job listing was a little vague," Mickey said.

"With good reason. I find it easier to talk to people and get a feel for their reactions rather than have blunt force wordings on a job board dissuade people. The core of the advert is true, we are looking for a secure courier transport to provide mechanical and security services to a cargo drone heading out to an ISA science team. Part of that assignment would also entail the close guarding of sensitive cargo on your ship, an item of scientific equipment," Walter flicked a finger over his terminal. "And as I can see from your licence files, you have the prerequisites for the safe handling of said equipment along with the background checks. In fact, I must say your files are impeccably kept, a rarity we see here at the ISA."

Ken searched his memory for a moment. Between Mickey, Soto, and himself they had a nice collection of licenses and permits for the transport of cargo. But nothing was quite out of the ordinary in that, except for one. A license Ken had acquired while he was serving as the teamleader of a bodyguard detail in his last year in the Corps. Bodyguard to a very particular item, and not a person. An item that the UNN had taken great pains to publicly dismantle and dispose of. "Is this equipment what I think it is?" He asked carefully.

"The ISA has been funding the Kronus Mission for the last twenty years," Walter said. "As you might know, the Kronus is a large mobile habitat station landed on the surface of Charon, the moon of Pluto. Its been the cornerstone of our deep space survey work, being able to traverse the surface of Charon and thus being able to observe the universe from the dark side at the furthest edge of the solar system."

"The ultra high res images of an exoplanet orbiting Alpha Centauri A, the ones where you can see clouds, that was Kronus wasn't it?" Mickey asked.

"Exactly! In fact, the lions share of funding for Kronus came from the Mormon Church, on the understanding that we'd do a detailed survey of the Tau Ceti system for their generation ship. Wasted money, so it seems, but at least the science remains," Walter smiled. "But we also perform geoscience and astrophysics experiments. And those experiments require highly precise and machined tools, things that cannot be made on-site given the lack of easily accessible heavy elements."

He leaned his elbows on the table, and leaned his head down to tap his chin with his steepled fingers.

"Do you know what a FAD is?" he said, eyeing Ken.

"Fragmentation Assistance Device." Ken replied after a sip of the water. "And never called a Fabulous Atomic Destroyer, because that would be unprofessional. It's what the UN does with its smaller nuclear weapons when they its their turn to decrease the nuclear stockpile. You want us to ship a nuke to Pluto?" he finally asked, a little surprised.

"The triggering mechanisms and detonation devices, yes. They are in an inert state, with no firmware loaded on them. That data is held on board the Kronos and will be loaded into the FAD's for use in a number of geophysics experiments. As well as trail clearing for Kronos," Walter added. He made a gesture to his hand terminal, and the table's scuffed plastic surface flickered and became a screen. On it was a close up of a tan land landscape, fringed with ridges of white ice and glistening rock. It was unremarkable save for a nearly unbroken dark line that stretched from one side of the image to the other. "There was a meteor impact event a month ago. No damage to Kronus, but it did cause subsidence along Styx Highway. That's the name we at the ISA call the path the Kronus is following around the equator of Charon. A FAD will make short work of the obstruction, as Kronus is due to ride this stretch of the highway in a years time."

"The job would entail shipment of the FAD's, as well as shepherding a cargo drone out to Pluto on a least time course. With the current planetary alignment, we estimate a six-month cruise to Charon. Giving the technical crew on site six months to plan the demolition and clearing work." Walter finished.

"Pluto...that's far out there. That's well past the range of any search and rescue outfit operating into the outer planets," Mickey commented.

"A commensurate fee of...let me see if I can find the accounting information here," Walter said. "Huum...15 million Ceres New Yen. Plus the expense of outfitting your ship for such a haul."

"Any chance Kronus has a cargo load for us to take back as well?" Ken asked the man. "I'm not opposed to a six month haul. Especially for that kind of money, but it's also a six month trip back at the least and I'd rather not eat most of the profit paying our crew for an empty cargohold back in. My second question is, what's the risk forecast? There are plenty of OPA belters who'd love to blow up a nuke that isn't a ship's core, so I'm expecting pirates."

"There is a reason why we are seeking an armed gunboat to accompany a cargo drone. We are publicly funded, and as a matter of interplanetary law must file the cargo manifest and its contents publicly. Given the current political climate, we'd be fools not to. The 15 million is a flat fee, as well as expenses to cover supplies lost due to work-related 'activities'," Walter stressed the word. "As for the return leg, Kronus does produce a number of exotic items and materials hard to come by in the inner planets. But that can be discussed on your arrival at Charon."

Ken smirked at the answer and looked at Mickey. "I have to give him credit, that was probably the best 'no-dressed-as-a-yes' I've heard in a long time. Okay, what about the penalities in the contract?"

"Your transit window is tight. The crew on Kronos will need a set amount of time to set the FAD and then clear any rubble left over, any delay in the circumnavigation will adversely affect the entire year's scientific missions. If you fail to arrive on time, you will receive only 75% of the fee to cover the security of the cargo drone. There is also a hazardous conditions clause, which is a boilerplate for most security contracts. We will need copies of any next of kin or legal wishes your crew might have," Walter nodded. He pushed a data slate across the table to them, displaying the rapidly scrolling contract data.

"It's legal, it's clean, it's clear." Ken concluded as he skimmed the contract. "The pay is even decent enough. I think we have a job, what do you think Mick?" the XO suggested.

“Looks like you’ve got yourself a sheep dog,” Mickey said with a grin and pressed his thumb to the contract plate.

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