“Any sabotage that’s not immediately visible,” said Shocho, “would have to have been committed by someone who knows the system in detail.”
“Or maybe there really is a war going on and they’ve blocked all transmissions.”
Without further discussion, they decided to end their EVA. But even before they reached the air lock they had news. The Terrans had barricaded themselves in their quarters.
2
SHOCHO AND CHAA
felt the tension emanating from the central lounge as soon as they were out of their suits. The entrance to the west and south modules had been blocked by a webwork of synthetic netting, usually used on space stations to provide hand- and footholds for astronauts during EVA. The Terrans had used it to erect a barricade.
Three of the exits from the central lounge gave access to the modules at the corners of the platform. The east module, which housed the AADD crew, and the north module, which held the observational equipment, had their own entrances. The west module, where the Terrans lived, and the south module, used as a workshop, shared a single entrance leading to separate corridors at right angles. The lounge was used for meetings and events; because there was almost no equipment there, the walls were covered with vegetation adapted to zero G. Each wall was covered with different types and colors of vegetation, offering a floating astronaut many different
decorative details to admire.
The Terrans’ barricade stretched across the entrance to the west and south modules. It was anchored to the netting behind the plants, making it difficult to gain access from the side. In the center of the netting was a circular metal hoop, apparently to allow movement in and out. But now it was tightly closed. The message
was brutally clear.
“Where the hell did they get this?”
“They must’ve put it together in the workshop during off-hours.”
One of the crew webbed this message to Shocho and Chaa. The Terrans didn’t use these devices. Their society rejected the minor physical alterations needed for a user to make the most of the web’s potential. The result was that most communication with Terrans had to be carried out verbally. This made it hard to know what they were doing aboard ship when they were out of earshot.
“Does this mean they’ve occupied the west and south modules?”
asked Shocho.
“They say they’ve appropriated the west module—anyway, those are their assigned living quarters. The south module is supposedly
under protective occupation.”
Shocho was momentarily stumped. She had to check the meaning of
appropriation
and
protective occupation.
There was also a short message that appeared to be a declaration of some sort from a Terran representative. Shocho wasn’t surprised to see that it had been signed by Maria Teranishi, the Terran number two. In addition to being a scientist and the U.S. representative aboard
Shantak II,
she held the rank of colonel in the UN Marines, at least according to
the signature on the message.
This was the first Shocho and the rest of the AADD crew had heard of Teranishi’s military background. Because of the comm blackout her record couldn’t be confirmed, but there was little reason for Teranishi to make false statements, so it was likely true. Her multiple roles—soldier, scientist, and representative for her country’s
interests—were not such an unusual combination on Earth.
Teranishi’s declaration was straightforward. “Any assembly of Terran citizens, no matter how small, has the right to protect its lives and property. AADD must respect these rights for all crew on
Shantak II.
Unfortunately, in the present circumstances AADD has given no credible assurance that such rights will be protected. Furthermore, AADD has provided neither an explanation of this abnormal situation nor any apology. Consequently, and in order to secure for ourselves the minimum degree of basic human rights, we
hereby appropriate the west module of
Shantak II.
”
In effect, Teranishi’s declaration meant that any orders coming from the senior administrator—in this case, Dr. Atwood—would be ignored as far as they applied to the west module and its occupants. Of course, this also meant that no one from the AADD
crew would be allowed inside.
The south and west modules of
Shantak II
were connected to the central lounge by a single hatch; the other two modules were connected to each other only via the central lounge. Airtight hatches were distributed throughout the ship, making it a simple matter to occupy any part of
Shantak II
by dogging down a single hatch.
The lounge was already accumulating off-duty AADD scientists and Guardians waiting to see how things would develop. The walls of the lounge were studded with handholds for the weightless environment. The waiting AADD crewmembers were clustered around the Terran barricade. If the Terrans were to open the door at their end of the corridor, they would probably be reminded of a
circle of vultures staring down a well.
“Well, Commander? Shall we go in and retake the module?”
There were only six Guardians aboard ship including Shocho, but ten more of the crew had trained for support operations under Shocho’s direction, giving her up to fifteen people to handle security. There were also enough nonlethal weapons aboard to equip
all of them.
Chaa’s proposal would mean going in with weapons and full protective gear and forcibly restoring access to the module. The use of force was, in his opinion, the easiest thing for the Terrans to understand.
“What if this is provocation?” asked Shocho.
Although Chaa seemed to understand instantly what Shocho meant, she was shocked that he hadn’t already thought of something so obvious. Normally Chaa would have considered such a possibility immediately. Shocho’s closest associate was losing his objectivity. This was a far greater problem than trying to decide whether to
storm the Terrans’ barricade.
“Remember, Chaa, we don’t know exactly why there’s a blackout. We have no evidence that there’s a war on. The Terrans have holed up in their quarters, that’s all. If we respond with force, they can notify Earth with their own gear. All that does is give Earth an excuse to strike back at AADD. And anyway, what would we do with them after we turfed them out of there? The only place we
could confine them would be in their quarters.”
Chaa’s proposal hadn’t been well-considered. Although he had already sent a message to the others telling them to prepare for an assault, Shocho downgraded that order to a standby alert. Chaa seemed dissatisfied but didn’t argue. He merely said, “Shocho, whose
side are you on, really?”
For the moment, Shocho had averted the hard-line push to assault the Terran quarters. The next step, again at her initiative, was
to communicate with the Terrans.
Luckily or not, Shocho was a senior Guardian, and the Terrans were under the impression that her security responsibilities effectively put her in command of the ship. This was a misinterpretation of AADD’s organizational structure, but apparently the Terrans were incapable, given their obsession with rank and hierarchy, of seeing things differently. Shocho hadn’t been completely comfortable leaving this misinterpretation in place, but if it would help solve the
crisis now, she was willing to use it to maximum advantage.
The Terrans seemed slightly mollified to be approached by the ship’s “captain” herself. Apparently the moderate faction was still intact, though it had been temporarily overruled by the hard-liners. It was Dr. Whitley, not Maria Teranishi, who responded to Shocho’s
invitation to talk.
Although physical modification was taboo on Earth, people still needed personal data devices. Thus each Terran was equipped with a PDA. Given her need to communicate frequently with the Terrans, Shocho had one too. She could easily have used her web to interface with the Terrans’ PDAs, but they disliked that—in fact, they seemed insulted by it—so Shocho used the PDA when not
speaking directly to them.
Dr. Whitley’s face filled the tiny screen. He seemed to be in the west module’s mess area. Meetings usually ended up taking place in these areas; it looked to Shocho as if she had interrupted one in progress.
“Dr. Whitley, I think you know why I’ve contacted you.”
“We’re willing to concede that the barricade was going too far.
But we have no intention of apologizing.”
“We’re not interested in an apology.”
Shocho was an experienced Guardian and certainly no stranger to Terran customs, but this obsession with apologies was something she’d never quite been able to grasp. Apologizing for creating a problem—that made sense, but there was no guarantee that an apology would help get to the root of the problem, much less solve it.
“Not interested in an apology! Well, fine, then. We’ll go along with your customs in this case. We will remove the safety net immediately.”
“On whose authority?”
At the word “authority,” Whitley’s face darkened, though he understood the need for confirmation on this particular point. It was clear even from the PDA’s tiny screen that he was speaking under the watchful eyes of his team. Shocho’s agent had already filtered the audio to confirm the presence of ten distinct breathing
patterns in the room.
“On my authority, of course,” said Whitley at length. “As senior
representative of Earth.”
“Not on the authority of Colonel Maria Teranishi?”
A murmur of astonishment rose around Whitley. The agent confirmed the presence of Teranishi’s voice print in the audio. It wasn’t possible to make out what she was saying, but the frequencies
pointed to profanity with a high level of certainty.
“Not her authority. Mine.” Whitley’s voice print showed marked indications of stress. Likely the moderate faction was barely holding the hard-liners at bay. Some generous concessions seemed called for, as the hard-liners were likely to regain the upper hand. Still, Shocho wasn’t going to mince words. Terran culture seemed to place far more emphasis on the way things were said rather than on the content. But
Shantak II
was ninety AUs from Earth, and
such niceties were a waste of time.
“Remove the barricade and we’re willing to recognize your exclusive control over the west module, but only for the duration of the blackout. We should avoid any unnecessary trouble that might
interfere with observation work.”
Whitley seemed surprised. Evidently so were the others standing outside the PDA’s field of view. Teranishi could be heard exclaiming
with surprise.
“You guarantee those terms on your authority, Commander
Kanda?”
“Of course. It’s my job.”
The Terrans couldn’t conceal their astonishment. This was obvious
from the PDA’s audio even without an analysis from the agent.
“All right, understood. We will remove the barricade, and you will recognize our exclusive occupation rights to the west module.”
“Only until the blackout ends. And we’ll need unrestricted access to the south module.”
“Agreed. We thank you for a wise decision.”
The screen went black; almost simultaneously Shocho’s agent showed her mailbox filling with comments from her team. The agent selected the first message—from Chaa—and Shocho forwarded it to everyone before reading it.
What do you mean by allowing them to occupy the west module?
“The Terrans are split into moderate and hard-line factions—just as we are, in fact. We can support their moderates by making concessions now. That’s the surest way to avoid further trouble. Is
there a problem with that?”
You’ve given up too much ground. Moderate or not, they’re still Terrans. Who knows what they might do? They’ll probably push for more concessions. Today the west wing, tomorrow the south wing. The next
thing we know they’ll have the whole ship.
“You’re not thinking, Chaa. Aside from the fact that we outnumber them five to one, there’s no reason we have to give them
the whole ship.”
You’re letting them off too easily, Commander. Everyone knows the Terrans are trying to take over our accretion disk. This whole incident
could be part of a plot. There’s no limit to their greed.
Control over the artificial accretion disk had recently become a point of contention with Earth. The Terrans argued that AADD’s sole control of Kali was illegal and that representatives from Earth should take part in the operation and management of the disk on an equal basis with AADD. Naturally AADD had no intention
of agreeing to that.
“Chaa, the one has nothing to do with the other. I’m not going
easy on the Terrans—you’ve just lost your objectivity.”
But Shocho knew the situation didn’t allow for much optimism. Her web agent had already informed her that a bare majority of her fifteen-person team agreed with her—and some were wavering. Among the six actual Guardians, there was only one other moderate. Chaa was sitting on the fence but was against further concessions. Shocho’s biggest problem was the fact that he’d let his emotions
get the better of him.