ey invested in this dig site. And it's paying off for them. They've already sent two loads in quickships back to Luna."
Quickships weren't really ships at all. They were rocket-propelled projectiles that carried a mining family's processed metals all the way to Luna. The rockets were for maneuvering, and built-in sponders constantly broadcast the quickship's location, trajectory, destination, and the name of the family. The family ID was always embedded deep within the quickship so it couldn't be pirated. But pirates had little chance of catching quickships anyway. They moved incredibly fast, far faster than any manned vessel could match. Once the quickships got close to Luna, they turned themselves over to Lunar Guidance, or LUG, where they got "lugged" into Lunar orbit for pickup and delivery.
"If we did wait for them to leave," said Lem, "about how long are we talking? A week? A year?"
"Impossible to say," said Chubs. "Juke hasn't done a lot of scans of rocks out this far. We typically stick to the Asteroid Belt. I have no idea how much metal they're sitting on. Could be a month. Could be eight months."
"What's the next closest asteroid?" asked Lem.
Chubs turned back to the chart and began digging around again. "If you're in a hurry, you won't like the answer. The next nearest rock is four months, sixteen days away. And that's four months in the wrong direction, farther out into deep space. So it would be four months out and four months back, just to return to this spot."
"Eight months. Way too long."
Chubs shrugged. "That's the Kuiper Belt, Lem. Space and more space."
Lem stared at the chart. They needed to take the closer asteroid. And the sooner the better. Lem didn't want the miners taking all the metals. The point was to show the Board the economic viability of the glaser. Lem didn't intend to obliterate the rock. He was going to break it up, collect whatever metals he could, sell the haul, and slap the asset statement onto the center of the boardroom table back on Luna.
But how do you vacate free miners from a profitable mine? He couldn't pay them, which, as a man of wealth, had always been his default strategy for anything. The free miners were sitting on their source of income, possibly a long-standing source of income. They wouldn't want to give it up. Which meant the only real option was to take it by force.
"What if we bump them?" asked Lem.
Lem had never witnessed the practice himself, but he knew that it existed. "Bumping" was a corporate technique, though not one you would find documented by any corporation. It was the asteroid version of claim jumping. Corporate ships snuck in on dig sites operated by free miners and chased the free miners away. They were coordinated attacks that required a lot of tech, but they worked. Free miners were rarely strong enough to defend themselves, and if you timed the attack right, the mineshafts would already be dug. So the free miners did most of the work, but the corporates reaped all of the benefits. It was devious, yes, and Lem didn't relish the thought of doing it, but an eight-month trip to the second-closest asteroid was simply not an option. Besides, if rumors were true, Father had done a good bit of bumping in his early days, which would suggest that he could hardly object if Lem did it, too--as long as it didn't become public.
Chubs raised an eyebrow. "You serious, Lem? You want to bump them?"
"If you see another option, I'd be thrilled to hear it. I don't like the idea either, but we can't ask them to leave. They wouldn't. And the Makarhu can clearly take them. My concern is the glaser. I don't want to endanger it in a scuffle. Could we bump them without jarring the glaser?"
"Depends on how you do it," said Chubs. "They're moored to the asteroid. If we catch them unawares, cut their moorings, and cripple their power, we can push them away as gentle as a kitten. They'd be completely defenseless at that point. The real danger is their pebble-killers."
Pebble-killers, slang for "collision-avoidance lasers."
"We wouldn't move on them until we took out their power," said Chubs. "Otherwise they could hit us with their lasers."
"Wouldn't that kill them?" asked Lem. "If we cut their power we'd cut their life support."
"They'll have auxiliary power for life support," said Chubs. "That's not a concern. The real issue is getting close enough to strike them. They might already know we're here. They've got a sky scanner. If we move toward them now, even four days out, they'll know it. Especially if we rush them. They'll pick that movement up immediately and still have plenty of time to build a possible defense."
"You've done this before, Chubs. Surely there are tactics for sneaking up on an asteroid."
Chubs sighed. "There is one approach that usually works if done right. We call it 'Red Light Green Light.' You're familiar with the playground game?"
Lem knew the one, and he could guess at what the name implied. "We sneak up on them when they're not looking."
"When they can't look," said Chubs. "Remember, they're moored to the asteroid. So they're rotating with it. We only advance toward them when they're on the opposite side of the asteroid from our position. When they rotate toward us, we become still as a statue before we get in their line of sight, with all of our lights off. A dead stop. Totally invisible. Then, as soon as they rotate around the asteroid, as soon as their back is to us, so to speak, we punch it and shoot forward. It takes a lot of stopping and starting with the thrusters and retros, and uses up way too much fuel, but it's doable. Though it will take a lot longer to get there."
"Set the course," said Lem. "And prepare everything we need for the bump. If they detect us sooner than we would like, I want to be ready to surge forward and take them."
Chubs smiled, shaking his head, already tapping commands into his wrist pad. "You surprise me, Lem. I took you for someone who held the moral high ground. Going to war doesn't seem your style."
"We're businessmen, Chubs. The moral high ground is wherever we set it."
CHAPTER 3
Wit
Captain Wit O'Toole rode up to the front gate at Papakura Military Camp in South Auckland, New Zealand, and presented his American passport to the soldier at the gatehouse. Papakura was home to the New Zealand Special Air Service, or the NZSAS, the kiwi version of the Special Forces. Wit had come to recruit some of the men. As an officer of the Mobile Operations Police--or MOPs, a small, elite international peacekeeping force--Wit was always on the lookout for qualified soldiers to add to his team. If the prospects he had identified here at Papakura were as smart and as skilled as he hoped they were, if they could pass Wit's unique little test, he would gladly welcome them aboard.
A light rain was falling, misting the windshield. The soldier examining Wit's passport stood in the rain, tapping at the sheets, clicking through all the data. He found the photo of Wit and compared it to Wit's likeness. Wit gave the man his friendliest smile. A second soldier with a leashed German shepherd did a loop around the vehicle, letting the dog sniff the vehicle's trunk and underside.