Space Station Chicago

They armed the demolition charges - and left me here!

Brady Porter scurried into the aging station’s airlock and pulled a space suit over his six-foot, athletic frame.

Don’t rush it. Get it right. But get out. Now.

A fair distance to the San Miguel. Can’t afford to run out of fuel or malfunction on the jet-pack.

A mental checklist blazed through his mind. He grabbed three jet-packs, replaced their fuel units, and lashed two together with a bungee. He pulled two additional fuel units from storage. All these he tethered to his waist, attached his helmet, verified all seals, and punched the airlock’s decompression.

Come on. Come on—

He donned the third jet-pack and secured its harness.

The airlock’s hiss slowed.

The outer door opened to the velvet splendor of space. Brady touched controls and the jet-pack pushed him into the void.

Okay, remember, get yourself up to speed and let inertia do the rest. Only use the jets to course-correct.

He positioned toward the San Miguel, the latest in space station tech. Multiple modules and everything the Chicago never had. On the Earth-facing side, a massive array of cameras sensors, and a giant Gorgon Eye with enough gigapixels to read a wristwatch on either horizon.

He fired the jets, navigated with care, and cleared the Chicago’s shadow.

Earth came into view, its night and day split down the glorious globe’s middle. Both space stations were geo-stationary. The ball below rotated its geography fifteen degrees per hour.

Thirty minutes passed, an hour, ninety minutes. The San Miguel hadn’t changed size at all.

Like when I was in west Texas and the highways through the giant Mesa Verde. Travel for an hour and I swear those things never moved an inch.

The San Miguel loomed larger.

I’m getting close fast now.

Oh, no! How is my speed? How would I know it?

Oh man, I’m gonna smash into the side at highway velocity if I don’t—

Brady turned the jet-pack toward the space station with full thrusters.

The station kept coming. Slower, and slower still. Blood rushed into his head.

The action braked him within twenty feet of the station’s nearest bulkhead.

Brady hissed propellant toward an octagonal pod airlock, pressed the release, and the door slid away in every direction. He slipped inside, pulled the equipment with him, closed the door, and initiated pressurization.

At the inside access window, a pair of legs in a yellow jumpsuit appeared on the catwalk.

Good, someone to greet me.

The pressure stable, the inner door opened to the concerned face of Nick Epton, San Miguel’s first resident, five-foot-ten and balding.

Brady disengaged the helmet and lifted it away. “Hey Nick.”

“Brady?” Nick released a gasp. “What are you doing here? I thought—”

“I was on board the last shuttle?” Brady said. “Surprise, surprise.”

“I gotta report this,” Nick said. “You’re not supposed to—”

“Slow down,” Brady said. “The shuttle applied all the demolition gear and left without me.”

“What?”

“I don’t think it was an oversight—”

“They deliberately left you?” Nick said.

“No,” Brady said. “I don’t think they had orders to take me.”

Nick swallowed and seemed to compress. “Oh, that’s — so wrong.”

“They didn’t greet me when they arrived, either,” Brady said. “Like they thought the station was empty.”

“Oh, crap.” Nick grabbed his head. “You must’ve been so scared.”

“You have no idea,” Brady said. “And your comms are down.”

“Since yesterday,” Nick said. “Can’t hail anyone. Standard procedure is to wait twenty-four hours for an outage to self-correct.”

“So, you’re still dark?” Brady said. “I’m placing a bet. We’ll watch the Chicago retro-fire into the atmosphere and detonate. And within minutes, your comms will be back online.”

“Like magic?”

“Just like that,” Brady said.

“What are you not telling me?”

“In time,” Brady said. “ETA on the demolition is less than half an hour. Can we watch it from here?”

“Sure, let’s go.” Nick led him through narrow passages, past new and beeping equipment, and onto the bridge. Twenty-feet in diameter, its walls lined with flatscreens, each with an outside view from the space station cams, some scrolled information faster than anyone could read.

Beyond all this, a twenty-by-twenty square window had a clear view of Earth’s globe and the Chicago space station in the lower right.

“The schedule says Chicago should already be toast,” Brady said. “Definitely nobody should be inside.”

Minutes passed.

Bright plumes on five different locations blasted into space behind the Chicago.

“Retro-rockets,” Brady said.

The station lurched, gathered speed toward the atmosphere, and its structure glowed with re-entry heat.

Brady pulled a breath. “Any second now.”

Two demolition charges in the middle ruptured the entire structure. Similar charges on the farthest ends ignited in massive fireballs and pushed the structure into itself. More charges disintegrated the remaining parts into an unrecognizable ball. A final plasma detonation broke it apart into pieces that would never survive re-entry. All of it entered the atmosphere in a spectacular column of fire and smoke.

“Lovely,” Nick said. “If not so ominous for you.”

“The shuttle is on the ground by now,” Brady said. “So they know I’m not on it.”

“You seem so calm about this,” Nick said. “They just tried to kill you.”

“Someone did. And wants it to look bureaucratic, like it was lost in the messaging.”

“Who would do that?”

“Someone with power and motive,” Brady said. “I have a name in mind. Let’s see where it goes. Don’t tell them I’m here.”

“Why would that matter?”

“If they think I burned up on the platform,” Brady said. “They will speak in those terms. If they really want me dead, do you think they’ll stop?”

“And destroy this place, too?” Nick swallowed. “It’s brand new.”

“All the easier to explain an industrial accident,” Brady said. “At taxpayer expense.”

Nick dropped his head and shook it. “Oh, mannnn.”

The communication system beeped.

“Sounds like,” Brady said. “It’s coming back.”

“Like magic,” Nick said. “Go into the next module. No cams in there. Stay quiet.”

Brady padded across the grated walkway into the second module, a living area with a miniature kitchen and food storage. He stopped at the entry, sat on the floor, and leaned his ear toward the walkway.

“San Miguel,” Mission Control said. “This is Houston. Do you copy?”

Nick touched a control. “Houston! Good copy. You’re still there. Glad we could get our comms back.”

“Software glitch,” Control said. “We uploaded a patch. How are you coming along otherwise?”

“Everything installed from the last shipment,” Nick said. “We’re looking for another one in two days. Slow but sure. No glitches so far.”

“Good to hear,” Control said. “Do you have all internal cameras running?”

Why would they ask that?

“All tested and operational, why?”

“We only see your module—”

“Additional power converters arrive next month,” Nick said. “Can’t run the whole station on what we have. You know this—”

“Right, thanks for reminding,” Control said. “We’ll be in touch in an hour.”

“Just watched the Chicago incinerate,” Nick said. “Truly spectacular. Give Brady Porter an attaboy for me. Such a trooper.”

“Can do.”

“San Miguel out.” Nick closed the call and joined Brady. “They didn’t act like they knew anything.”

“How strange is that?” Brady said. “The way they keep inventory of people and equipment? Come on, Nick.”

“Yeah, it’s weird.” Nick ran his hands through his hair. “You were right. The comms magically came back after the Chicago vaporized.”

“How long you been offline?”

“Sixteen hours.”

Brady leaned against the wall and pulled a breath. “Right before the demolition shuttle’s launch.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Being offline made sure I couldn’t call you for help.”

“Oh, crap.”

“They had every opportunity,” Brady said, “to verbally brief the crew on me. This isn’t bureaucracy or an information glitch. Someone manipulated this. Let’s see how they explain it.”

“Stay on this side of the station,” Nick said. “They can access the cams next door anytime they want.”

“What if they already saw me?” Brady said. “That would explain why they said nothing.”

“No, they would’ve asked.”

“Unless they wouldn’t have.”

“Oh, mannnn.” Nick shook his head. “No, no, this isn’t happening.”

“One way we can find out more,” Brady said. “Are the vision arrays active?”

“Are they active?” Nick grinned. “Is a frog watertight?”

“Show me.”

Nick led him into the third module, five swivel-loungers and a giant, twelve-foot flat screen. “Get comfortable.”

Brady chose a chair nearest the screen, lowered into it, and spun. “Nice.”

Nick opened a drawer, pulled a device resembling a game controller but with many more controls, and flopped into the seat alongside Brady. He touched buttons and the screen ignited. “Let it warm up.”

The screen seemed to glitch and resolved a live feed of Earth in its glory. The blue ball rested in black velvet. Its nighttime boundary had shifted far to the side.

“The Gorgon sees all,” Nick said. “More gigapixels than anyone deserves.”

“That view never gets old.” Brady exhaled.

“Each button is marked.” Nick handed Brady the controls. “Have fun.”

“Let’s see here.” Brady zoomed the view onto the United States, adjusted for the southern half, zoomed on Texas, its southern half, and finally over Houston.

“What are we looking for?” Nick said.

“Living quarters.” Brady zoomed onto the Space Administration facility and its residential buildings. “The resolution is just amazing. Like we’re right there.”

“The execs live in town, though,” Nick said. “This is for visitors.”

“Yep.” Brady zoomed on the building and hit the infrared filter. “Only two people.” He zoomed closer, refined the image, and it resolved to Paula’s form. “That’s my wife.”

“On site! Are you kidding me!” Nick snapped forward. “You think she’s gonna scream when you don’t walk through the door?”

Brady smirked. “Unless she’s in on it.”

Nick squared on him. “What are you not telling me?”

Brady shared his suspicions from holiday photos. “And there he was, the chief of operations, in every photo, right next to Paula. Like old friends.”

“Teague?” Nick dropped his head. “Man, that sucks.”

“When she arrived at the living quarters,” Brady said. “We had a face-to-face. She told me the plumbing had a problem and Teague had sent two men to work on it. I saw Teague in the background. I didn’t hear any banging pipes.”

“That’s because the banging didn’t start until the call was over.”

Brady’s core choked into his throat. “Yeah.”

“Oh, sorry, man, I’m so sorry, I just shoot my mouth—”

“I don’t blame you,” Brady said. “Anyway, she told me Teague had mentioned me getting a ten-X salary bonus for hazard pay up here.”

“Ten-X?” Nick tilted his head. “How did you score a ten-X?”

“I didn’t,” Brady said. “We get a five-X for this. Where would she get the idea for ten-X?”

“I’m not following—”

“Ten-X is the payout on accidental death—”

“Oh, crap—”

“Let’s watch,” Brady said. “I got nothing else to do.”

The men bantered about the space program and how it had devolved to a bureaucratic mess. Nobody seemed to know what anyone’s future might be.

Paula’s image moved toward the door.

“Here we go.” Brady sat forward. He followed her out to her car, marked it with a tag, panned out, and tracked it across Houston. She entered an upscale residential area, meandered its streets, and stopped at a large home. “Any chance we can get the address here?”

“Yeah, the side buttons map the street address to GPS and—”

Text scrolled at the bottom.

“Teague’s house,” Brady said. “She’s visiting Teague in the very window she should be meeting me.” He zoomed to the residence.

Infrared showed Teague’s image approach the door and let Paula inside. They embraced, kissed for an excruciating duration, and moved to the back of the home, to the bedroom.

“I’ve seen enough.” Brady zoomed out.

A long silence passed between them.

“We’re both in trouble here,” Nick said. “But I have an idea. It’s outrageous and ugly, but will do the trick.”

“Talk to me,” Brady said.

“Kill two birds with one — er — bird, so to speak.”

“Speak plain—”

“Space to air missiles,” Nick said. “Were fully tested a month ago. They wanted ‘em enabled as a priority—”

“Missiles?”

“This is a defense platform,” Nick said. “Didn’t you know that?”

“What can these missiles do?” Brady tapped his chin.

“The smaller ones,” Nick said. “Could level that home and turn it into a crater.”

“Wow,” Brady said. “You’re right. Outrageous and pretty dark.”

“Solves both our problems,” Nick said. “Teague won’t be around to hide his activity or kill us both with lost protocols.”

Brady handed him the controls. “This is all yours. I won’t stop you. But I can’t help you, either. How will this play at HQ? Missile leaves the platform and kills the Supreme Leader. How could it be an accident?”

“It’s not an accident,” Nick said. “We’ll claim signals arrived that launched it before we could stop it.”

“Hackers?” Brady’s core seemed to glow. “That’s brilliant.”

Yeah, that’s a fitting end for both of ‘em. They tried to kill me.

“It’s insanely easy to arm and fire these,” Nick said. “No security firewall.” He tapped the controls and rose to another console, pulled its keyboard, and his keytaps became feverish. “GPS locked in. Missile selected. It’ll arm at a thousand feet, about ten seconds after I hit this button.”

“Can anyone stop it?” Brady said.

“Too small for interceptors,” Nick said. “A deliberate design decision.”

“Hilarious,” Brady said. “Whenever you’re ready.” Brady adjusted the view to five-thousand feet above the home, high enough to eliminate the roiling bodies in the bedroom.

Nick hovered a finger over the button, hesitated, and tapped it.

A rumble met them from the San Miguel’s bowels and the missile’s smoke-trail ripped into the atmosphere.

“Arrival in,” Nick said. “Five, four, three—”

The home erupted in a fireball and saturated the video’s center.

“Direct hit!” Nick jumped and fast-clapped.

Seconds passed and the effect dissipated. A crater remained with no other homes harmed.

A loud beep repeated from the comms chamber.

“Oops,” Nick said. “Mom’s calling. Give me a sec.”

Brady followed to the corridor and listened.

Nick had a heated exchange and claimed the launch signal originated from the outside. “We were hacked!”

Control had terse, accusing words but couldn’t refute Nick’s rendition.

Nick strolled back and slow-clapped. “Cyber-security team inbound. I bet you could hitch a ride.”

“We’ll see.” Brady stood. “Anywhere I can sleep?”

Nick showed Brady to the living quarters in module four.

Brady had a restless bout with the mattress and achieved a few hours of light sleep. Late in the following day, Houston launched the cyber-security team and two hours later, they docked at the San Miguel.

Brady eavesdropped behind a bulkhead.

Captain Joseph Fontaine climbed through the airlock, tall, fifty-something, full head of dark hair, and shook Nick’s hand.

“Welcome aboard!” Nick said. “How many with you?”

“Two technicians,” Fontaine said. “We’ll install and test missile security. No more misfires.”

“Yeah, it just whooshed outta here,” Nick said. “I killed the power on the array. No telling how many more—”

“It landed on Teague’s house,” Fontaine said.

Nick feigned surprise with a long pause. “No — kidding? I hope without Teague in it—”

“He was in it,” Fontaine said. “With a guest. We should talk.”

“About?”

“Yesterday, I brought the demolition team to the Chicago,” Fontaine said. “We added all the charges, armed them, and hailed the comms. Nobody was home.”

Nick crossed his arms. “Hmm.”

“Anyhow, Brady Porter’s wife was with Teague,” Fontaine said. “I don’t have to tell you how it looks. Brady missing. His wife dead. Brady’s in a lot a trouble.”

Brady stepped from behind the bulkhead. “Am I?”

“Brady?” Fontaine tensed. “You’re here? Not the Chicago?”

“I was,” Brady said. “Watched you apply the charges. Watched you leave. You never tried the comms. I was there.”

“No, no,” Fontaine said. “We boarded the Chicago. You were nowhere to be found. Because you were over here.”

“Our external cameras saw everything,” Nick said. “Your shuttle departed. Brady departed afterward. An hour later, the whole thing blew. You said something about Teague and Brady’s wife?”

Fontaine swallowed. “All I know.”

“It’s enough,” Brady said. “Isn’t it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Teague let the bureaucracy kill me,” Brady said. “To cover up their affair.”

Fontaine wagged his head, eyes wide. “No, I don’t think—”

Brady updated Fontaine on his knowledge of the affair.

“And you lied,” Nick said. “Full to my face. You didn’t board the Chicago.”

Fontaine wiped the sweat from his lips. “Fine. They blamed me for Brady’s death. I just gave you the story I told them. That I boarded and he was missing.”

“So, why did you leave without me?” Brady said.

“Before we left,” Fontaine said. “I was told the Chicago was empty.”

“Verbally?” Brady said.

Fontaine swallowed. “Yes, I—”

“So, it’s not on record,” Brady said. “Who?”

Fontaine stared at Brady as if his brain was on fire. “Teague.”

“Of course he did,” Brady said. “Connecting the dots now?”

“We’ll bring you back with us,” Fontaine said. “It’ll exonerate me and — you’ll be back home. Win-win.”

“Sounds good,” Brady said. “To a home I don’t recognize.”

“And I need a favor,” Fontaine said. “I wasn’t part of this.”

If I don’t, will he leave me here? Or worse?

“Shoot.”

“Tell them we boarded,” Fontaine said, “but you had already left for the San Miguel.”

“Why would I leave,” Brady said, “if I thought you were picking me up?”

Fontaine stared at him. “Teague used all of us.”

“And if we tell the truth,” Nick said. “They’ll think the missile was no accident after all.”

“So, what will we tell them?” Fontaine said. “What tale will tie off all the loose ends?”

“I have an idea,” Brady said.