Jupiter Three

When I woke up this afternoon, I discovered we were on lock-down. No one can move between levels except to return to their place of work or their quarters. Security is going over the ship with a fine tooth comb, and they expect the lock-down to last at least 48 hours.

One of the engineers who comes into the Messa Mesa almost every night said that a friend of his, a lab tech on level two, told him that after the tragedy on the TerraStar, Dr. Morgan Senecki, the head of research, had ordered a safety inspection of all the labs. It was meant to be just a precaution.

The rumor is they found an unexploded bomb in one of the storage bins. The captain alerted the TerraStar, and they are now looking for evidence that their “accident” wasn’t. Meanwhile, security details on both ships have been ordered to search for unauthorized materials throughout the ship, especially in quarters.

I have a friend, lets call him ‘Bob’. ‘Bob’ has been dabbling in a little “home chemistry”, the kind that involves fermentation? As you might expect, alcohol is restricted on board a ship of this kind. There are no pubs, and the last any of us saw of a real drink was the sendoff. Apparently there are spirits on the ship, but they are reserved for special occasions, at the captains discretion.

As long as humans have been living together, their have been “private” stills, and on board a colony ship is no exception. ‘Bob’ has managed to distill two gallons of hooch, fermenting I don’t want to know what. He can’t dump it into the sewer system – that system has more chemical monitors than a space port customs station. Anything even mildly explosive will set off alarms.

If security finds the hooch, ‘Bob’ gets in big trouble. He has already disassembled the still, but that leaves two gallons of rot gut alcohol to dispose of before security gets to his stash. The only way to safely dispose of it is to process it. ‘Bob’ is soliciting help in this matter.

I like ‘Bob’.

Security reached the Messa Mesa at around 4AM. It had been busy all night; a lock-down isn’t conducive to sleep, so we not only had the regular third shift lunch crowd, but a lot of insomniac first and second shifters. When security showed up, no one was allowed to leave until the diner inspection was complete.

Lisa runs a pretty tight operation, and keeps us on a pretty short leash when it comes to inventory, so I knew we had nothing to worry about, but it was unsettling nonetheless. They have pretty sophisticated equipment for searching for chemical components of all kinds, and I was told by one of their technicians that the electronics scanners will find a computer chip in a lead box, if the lead box is close enough. Still, there was a lot of opening and spilling and dumping going on.

I’ve cleaned up everything I could, but Lisa will NOT be happy.

Fortunately I was not one of those who had trouble sleeping because of the lock down. I finished my shift at Messa Mesa and was in bed by 0700. So of course there was a knock on my door just after 0900.

“Go away!”

“Crewman Ryan, this is security here to inspect your quarters.” The news was no less annoying delivered by a woman. I got up and opened the door. “Now?”

“I am afraid so, crewman.” The speaker was a female security office, and a good looking one at that. “Please step outside while my men perform their duties.”

“I’m not really dressed for it,” I replied, pointing at my boxers.

“I am afraid I must insist.”

I opened the door and let the two security officers in, then stood in the hallway with the woman in charge. I tried to keep things light.

“So this is morning. I don’t see the attraction.” I looked at her badge. “Lieutenant Alexander, do you come to level four often?”

“Not very,” she replied, watching the men search my room.

“Ah, well, you should see it at night, when the evening light in the hallway reflects off the doors just so. Its like, well, like that,” I said, pointing to the door next to mine, “not to be missed.”

That at least got the Lieutenant to smile. A chink in her armor. I decided to push my luck. “You know, if you’ve never been to the secondary engineering compartment, there is an incredible view of a navigation console from the second stairwell.” I managed to keep a straight face.

The Lieutenant said nothing, as she watched the men finish their search. As they left my quarters, Lieutenant Alexander finally looked at me as she said, “I’m sorry for any inconvenience Crewman Ryan.”

“No inconvenience at all Lieutenant Alexander, I assure you,” I lied. “And if you are ever in need of a tour guide when you visit again, look me up in the Messa Mesa.”

Hey, a man has to play the cards he is dealt.

The lock down has ended. The captain made a formal announcement to the whole crew, confirming the rumors that a bomb had been found on board. The two and a half day search had turned up nothing, and it was assumed that a saboteur had planted it before the ship had left.

No one believes it. The search of those boarding the Jupiter Three prior to departure is extremely thorough. The bomb would have to have been assembled on board, by someone who knew what they were doing.

But what do I know. I’m just a cook.

Life is back to normal. What is normal on a colony ship carrying five hundred people scheduled to be in space for 18 months? I have no idea– I work the third shift. For me normal starts at about 3PM.

It was hectic the first few days after the lock down ended. In spite of the announcement from command, there was considerable speculation about what was really going on. For example, the day after the lock down, I overheard three crewman arguing over “lunch”.

“I heard it was a test – create the rumors of a potential catastrophe, see how the crew handles it before we get too far into the trip,” said the larger of the three (Martian rice and beans, extra spicy).

“That’s a load of sh*t,” responded his thin female companion (rabbit cutlets on toast with black gravy). “That rumor got started so that people like you wouldn’t panic. The bombs were real alright, planted by a group of corporations afraid that the companies sponsoring this trip would get too much of an edge.”

“That’s right,” the last man responded (coffee, black, no sugar). The woman smiled at his support while he continued. “If the conglomerates supporting our little migration get the gates up and running, they’ll control the access points between three worlds. There is just too much money at stake.”

“Hogwash,” Rice and Beans continued, “you don’t kill over a thousand people just to slow down the competition. People would find out, and those companies would be ruined. No, I don’t think there was even anyone killed on the TerraStar. Its all part of an experiment in social engineering. They were playing us, and we passed.” Rice and Beans sat back smugly, gulping from his coffee cup.

Cutlets leaned forward. “You have no idea how much money is at stake do you. Corner access to Jupiter, and you can name your price for transport.” As she leaned back she casually placed her hand on Black Coffee’s knee. I could tell Coffee was pleased, though he tried not to show it.

“I know a tech on level two who has a cousin on the TerraStar,” Black Coffee offered, “he said his cousin knew on of the labbies that was killed.”

Coffee’s response seemed to settle it for Cutlets, but Rice and Beans still wasn’t convinced. They continued like that for at least an hour, and they weren’t the only ones.

What I did know is that it was going to be Cutlets and Coffee in the morning .