Star journey

‘Hey, Piccola. What did the log say?’ I asked while reviewing the investicam footage of the cockpit containing two frozen corpses, both tidily harnessed into their seats.

We had been called to investigate a derelict craft floating about a quarter of an AU from Europa’s satellite station, Talos. If the small transport hadn’t drifted through the cargo lane during the busiest shipping week of the cycle, it would have continued on into oblivion and we would have been none the wiser about its fate. Incident investigations always began with remote sensors. There was no point in suiting up to visit the craft in person or pay to have it towed in and docked, if it was a corporate matter. A mismanaged transport was the shipping company’s problem. They could use their resources to bring the ship in. We just attach a beacon to it and notify the appropriate owner. Perhaps the credits we saved the Europan colony government by doing a remote review would allow them to spring for the upgrade on the algae refiner. Maybe then our food wouldn’t always taste like green muck.

‘Ship’s called the Star Journey; shitty, used transport purchased from a dealer on the Moon. Umm, based on preliminary read outs, looks like they overpaid for a ship that couldn’t hold a seal.’ Piccola swiped through his handheld’s display then continued, ‘They filed a dummy flight plan. Said they were going to visit family on Mars, but diverted and ended up out here. Their information systems show they were learning how to fly as they went. Searched for things like “how to refuel” and “safe nitrogen levels”.

‘What?’ I gave Piccola a confused look. I’d heard of noobs learning to fly a ship by the book before, but never so far away from an atmosphere. Sighing, I punched in a request for a tow retrieval into the computer. ‘Sounds suspicious. I guess we’ll go get the popsicles and find out what they were up to.’

***

Star Journey was towed in and docked all the way out in G24. It took over a half hour to get out to the berth, but I didn’t want to blow more of our budget on a closer one. Parking all the way out here would also allow us to remove the bodies without the prying eyes of the SatCom News feed reporters. And, after we looked everything over and yanked the data core, we could sell the vessel in the government auction, which was held on every two weeks in the station’s G arm. No extra transport costs, no unwanted attention.

By the time Piccola and I arrived, the tow team had cracked the seal on the flight cabin. We entered and found nothing notable. Dead male in his mid-sixties. Dead female, slightly younger. They were healthy, no body modifications, no enhancements, and they looked like they had been fed a regular diet. Piccola tossed up a field scanner ball to assess the ship’s environmental status. As the scanner flew around the cabin evaluating, he read off the output it provided from his handset, ‘Electronics old, but functioning. Engine a piece of shit, but would have delivered them to Talos or Europa safely. A very small leak in the panel behind the navigation system. I doubt they would have known how to find it, let alone fix it.’

‘Is that what killed them? Slow leak?’ I asked as I moved behind each of the corpses to scan their ID codes imprinted behind their right ear.

Piccola nodded his head. ‘Yeah, at the rate of the leak and the distance traveled, they would have been hypoxic an AU away from Jupiter. If they had even the most basic experience in space travel, it would have been avoidable. There’s a full canister of sealant in the safety kit. They could have repaired it and preserved their oxygen supply until they arrived.’

I grunted in acknowledgement, but my attention was pulled away by the information scrolling up on my handheld, generated from the deceased’s ID scans. ‘You’re not going to believe this, but he’s a Grade 7 Paddy and she is a Grade 5 Nommy. What the hell are they doing here?’

‘That’s not possible. Paddies and Nommies don’t travel to the outer planets. Why would they? They have everything they need. And they are essential workers. Earth Org wouldn’t give them clearance to leave,’ Piccola’s face scrunched up as he tried to reason out an answer then continued, ‘Someone must have stolen their ID marks.’

I gave him an unconvinced eyebrow raise and said, ‘That doesn’t make any sense. If you wanted to disappear into the outer planets, you would steal the ID mark of an ice miner or a cook, not a Paddy. Something doesn’t connect. Let’s send them to the morgue while we look into it. I don’t want to jettison a body that turns out to be important. For now, though, let’s keep their identification between us.’

As we sent in the requisition for the corpse removal and collected the data core, my thoughts drifted to the motivation for a Paddy and a Nommy to leave Earth. Everyone knew theirs was the most difficult and prestigious job to get. Years of screening, education, and training. Personality tests, compatibility assessments, empathy requirements; only one percent of the applicants ever reached the grade levels these two did. It didn’t make sense. The Paddy (provider-daddy) and Nommy (nurse-mommy) occupations were the result of two plagues, one global war, and an extreme drought, followed by prolonged famine. After a century of disaster heaped on top of disaster, coupled with plummeting fertility, governments all over the world agreed to a population management strategy that allowed everyone to contribute genetically, but child rearing and education was handled by professionals overseen by a global organization with agreed standards and accountability. Not just any idiot would be allowed to have children. Such an important responsibility, that was essential to all of humanity, would be handled by Earth Org. Each nation state had a Paddy-Nommy program, but all reported to Earth Org.

‘Which hive do you think they belonged to?’

Piccola’s question snapped me out of my internal ruminations. Hives were the Paddy-Nommy groups that belonged to each nation state. They were clusters of living areas, schools, and shops where children were raised, educated, played, and brought up with no strife, fear, or want. Within each hive were hundreds of Paddy-Nommy households, each containing up to ten children of various ages. All adored and loved. All rosy cheeked and well fed. Happy children yielding happy adults. Since the initiation of the program, crime, poverty, suicide, drug use, and divorce all decreased dramatically. Residual social ills were blamed on children born outside the system. Solos they were called, because they were raised alone. And because they were considered “so low”.

‘Does it matter? Aren’t hives politically agnostic?’ I finally replied.

‘No, it doesn’t matter. I just wonder if they were from my hive. Maybe I could have known them.’

I stared at him blankly, suddenly realizing how young and naïve he looked. Had he always looked so sheltered and dopey? Looking back at my handheld I said, ‘Hmm. Says they were from a Planocontinenta hive, somewhere in the Brazilia region. Aren’t you from a Pacific Rim hive?’

He looked relieved and said, ‘Yeah, I am from the Nippon-Ainu hive. Across the ocean. I would have never met them.’ A faint smile flashed on his face.

And there it was. No matter how equal, homogenous, and fair everything was, hive babies still believed their upbringing was the best. This rogue Paddy and Nommy weren’t from his hive. His hive wasn’t affiliated with an abnormality. That is why I never shared that I was a Solo. Before Piccola could ask what hive I was from, I changed the direction of the conversation. ‘His name is Tiegen Marsten, her’s Oolam Sanchez. I will send in an interview request to their neighbors. Maybe another member of their hive could tell us what they were thinking running away to the ass end of space when they could be sitting on the beach with an ice-cold beer looking at holos of their children.’

***

It took several Earth rotations to arrange a holo-interview, but it was finally set up. Fortunately, the subspace link was strong with Earth and had minimal lag, as Brazilia was facing in Jupiter’s general direction at the time. The only neighbor to respond to our request for an interview was a Nommy in her later thirties named Sharna Hadt. We made introductions and I explained why we were trying to reach out. She was genuinely shocked when I told her the reason for our visit. She told us that she had lived next to Marsten and Sanchez when she first started her position and that they mentored her and her Paddy. About three years ago, Marsten and Sanchez had aged out of child rearing and were being phased into educator roles. She assumed that they were moved to another hive for their new positions.

‘I honestly hadn’t heard from them in over a year. We would holo-visit once a month or so, but then we had the newest baby, stopped holoing as frequently, and eventually lost touch. I thought they’d moved to the Texicano hive.’ Hadt explained to my hologram-self in her living room. There were two young children playing with blocks behind her as she wrestled to put socks on an infant.

‘Was there any reason for them to leave Earth? Visit one of their family members perhaps?’ I asked.

‘No, they are all on Earth. Oh, their family…has anyone notified their children? They are going to be devastated.’

‘We’ll notify the hive management. I am sure they will contact the next of kin. What about their job performance? Could they have left to avoid being scrutinized for a mistake in their positions? Maybe one of their children failed to thrive?’ I tried to sound as nonjudgmental as possible.

‘No! They were models for the rest of us. They raised twelve children. Twelve! That’s more than the average. All happy, productive adults now.’

I nodded and gave a smile to seem friendly before digging in to the unsavory questions. ‘Drugs, alcohol, sex? Any unapproved vices they indulged in?’

Her face screwed up in a disapproving look and she curtly responded, ‘No. Paddies and Nommies are not Solos. They don’t indulge their base instincts.’

Clearing my throat to hide my humor at her incorrect assessment of human nature, I continued, ‘How about something they saw or heard? Were there any changes going on in Earth Org that they disagreed with? Something they felt was not compliant with the standards they represented?’

Hadt’s eyes darted briefly to the side, looking at something I couldn’t see in the holo-field. She slapped on a fake smile and said, ‘No. Of course not. Earth Org adheres to the same impeccable standards it has always maintained. Tiegen and Oolam were the best of us and Earth Org through and through. Besides, where could they go that was better than here?’

She was sticking to her truth. I wouldn’t get anymore information out of this holo-visit. She added abruptly, ‘Thank you for letting me know about what happened to them. I have to get the children ready for a trip to the aquarium. Kids love seeing the octopus. So funny.’

I smiled again, briefly making eye contact with her, and said, ‘Thank you for your time. You have been very helpful.’

Disconnecting the holo, I looked at Piccola. He grimaced and said, ‘I guess that was a dead end.’

Smiling slyly, I said, ‘On the contrary, that was quite informative,’ I put my feet up on the desk and added, ‘She asked “where could they go that was better than here?”, not “where would they go?”. She was genuinely asking where could they go? Something has changed in their hive; an unpleasant change and she is afraid to openly speak about it. Maybe she wants out too.’

Piccola shook his head. ‘We can’t travel to Earth for a face-to-face and ask her, so, as I said before, it’s a dead end.’

‘Oh, Pixie, you give up too easily,’ I winked at him as I swiped through my handheld searching the information I wanted. Continuing I said, ‘You know our occupation used to do criminal investigations, back when there was an abundance of crime. Now we just write up reports on cargo losses, derelict craft, and chemical spills. Let’s really investigate for a change, like 21st century coppers, and find out what Nommy Hadt is afraid of.’

My partner gave me an unconvinced look and asked, ‘How? You implied she can’t speak freely.’

‘Hmm. True. And that’s why we are going to visit the octopus tank at the Brazilia aquarium.’

Piccola and I purchased vitu-bot tickets for the Octopus Experience, logging our sensory helmets into the automatons that were available at the aquarium. In Brazilia, we just looked like two tourists admiring the concentric tank filled with octopi, remotely driving non-descript WiMi robots. Back on Talos we were sitting in the virtualization stations, looking like two creepy guys watching a holo-stripper.

‘She’s not coming. It’s been almost an hour. Someone is going to ask us why we aren’t visiting the rest of the aquarium.’

‘Why do you care? Just tell them you really like octopi. Besides, she’ll show up,’ I quipped.

Less than ten minutes later Nommy Hadt and a passel of young children wandered into the Octopus Experience. The children scattered into the cul de sac of octopus tanks and added their grubby hand prints to the collection already accumulated on the tank glass. I could only image the cleaning staff swearing every night wiping off all those greasy little fingerprints. Hadt scanned around the room to see who else was in the area before casually walking up to my WiMi bot and asking me the time. I turned my face display toward her, so she could see that it was me driving the bot.

‘Good to see you again. We hoped we would get the opportunity to speak more.’

She sighed and fished around in her handbag without looking straight at me and said, ‘I’m going to be direct, since I don’t have a lot of time and I don’t want anyone to know it was me that spoke of this.’

Pulling out a tube of peppermints, she popped one in her mouth and just stood silently for a moment. I tried to put her at ease by saying, ‘This is off the record. We just want to know what happened to Marsten and Sanchez. If you give us a place to start, we can dig around on our own for more information.’

That seemed to relieve some of her anxiety and she nodded slightly before saying, ‘Tiegen said that the hive was having him train their children in combat – shooting, hand-to-hand fighting, how to use a knife. Some guy named Laitron was going camping with them every couple of weeks and putting the kids through some sort of boot camp. And Oolam told me that eventually they were excluded from the camping trips entirely and didn’t know what was going on. Laitron told the children were told not to share what they were learning with their Paddy and Nommy or children of other families in the hive. Their three youngest children, the ones that would have gone camping with Laitron most often, now work for the Planocontintenta Government. Oolam said she thought they were working in a military capacity.’

‘Why? The Brazilia hive is mostly geared toward commerce. Any defense training is managed by the Huron Hive,’ said Piccola.

The look on Nommy Hadt’s face confirmed my thoughts on the matter. Planocontinenta was gearing up for war. They had been for an entire generation and their two neighboring nation states, Pacifica and the NorCan States, were unprepared. All of the benefits reaped by those two nations from investing heavily in the Mars colonies, Europa mines, and the main asteroid belt would go to Planoconitenta. Why build when you can steal?

‘Why didn’t Marsten and Sanchez just go to Earth Org and tell them that their hive had been corrupted?’ I asked.

‘They tried, but Laitron and others were watching them. Threatened them. Oolam said she thought the children were reporting back to him what Tiegen and she said and did. After the children were grown and on their own, they decided to run to the NorCam States and contact Earth Org. One day, just before they’d planned to leave, she was run off the road coming home from the market. She was badly injured and it took several months for her to get back on her feet. After that, they decided to just go off Earth. The last I knew, they planned to go to Mars and contact Earth Org from there.’

So, they were trying to get to Mars, but something or someone made them abruptly change plans and try for Europa. Most likely, the leak in their transport wasn’t an accident either. If they had been a little more space savvy or paranoid, they might have made it.

‘Thank you, Nommy Hadt. I think we have enough information to start an inquiry with Earth Org. If you think of anything else or want to speak to us again, just send us a message.’

She shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t be able to contact you. I am sure they are watching me as well.’

Her fear was reasonable, given what had happened to her neighbors. Perhaps a way to communicate that no one else would understand. ‘If you want to communicate with us, just send me an image of an octopus. I’ll be here the same day of the week and same time as now after you send the image. I think that would be obscure enough to hide your intent.’

Sighing, she responded, ‘Ok, I can do that, but I don’t think there will be anything else I have to say,’ then to the wandering preschoolers she chimed, ‘Come on, children, let’s go see the sharks.’