TOPIC: The Expanse - Angels

Two years is as an infinitesimally insignificant length of time in the cosmic scheme, but for the big man, it may have been a lifetime. More had changed in 24 lunar cycles than in the rest of his years combined…..

Bruce Seki was a rotund man, his skin shone with sweat underneath the low slung light above the booth in the Lotus Flower. Music pumped around the room mixed with the rancid smell of counterfeit spirits. The lights added to the migraine effect, lashing the patrons with strobes and laser flares that danced across the writhing bodies of the naked dancers at the podiums. The punters didn’t seem to mind. It made the big man want to puke.

Bruce Seki pushed an old fashioned leather bound folder across the table, smearing across wet rings of Saki from the ornate glasses kept only for when Mr Seki was in town. The big man looked down at Bruce’s hand, his pudgy fingers tipped with immaculately manicured nails, his other hand groping a naked female sitting next to him, not quite sure if she wanted to be there, but sure that she knew better than to protest. The big man grimaced at the sight and took the folder in his own fingers, aged with a tough life, and leafed through the contents.

The big man had done countless jobs for the family, he had little compassion for the stupidity of those that crossed the clan, the unwritten rules were clear to all and consequences of breaking them were seen in news feeds on a weekly basis. Baltimore was like that, after a while you started to suffer from outrage lethargy. This job seemed different. The big man’s brow raised as he read the travel chit to Ceres and he tried hard to keep the sharp intake of breath from Bruce’s gaze and the looks of the Blackblades flanking the tiny boot unnoticed. A simple job, go to Ceres, and exert a punishment to the foolish artwork dealer who had failed to read the unspoken rules of engagement. Horace Pullover wouldn’t pose much of a threat, his work assignment was included, the big man would know where to look, and the final part of the job, to kidnap his daughter seemed easy enough. False travel documents for the big man and his soon to be ‘daughter’ return trip were included on a small data stick tucked into a pouch in the antique folder.

The big man grew accustomed to the low gravity on Ceres quickly, and spent a few days shadowing Horrace, picking his moment. His compassion for Horace waned as he followed him from work, to brothel, to gambling house. This man deserved everything he had coming.

On this day, the first day of the rest of his life, the big man watched from a graffiti covered bench across the plaza to the entrance to the schooling center. He checked his terminal for the time and took another spoonful of kibble from the advert emblazoned pot. Walking down the promenade came Horace, with a large bag over his shoulder. The presence of the bag unconsciously caused the big man to move his hand to his chest to feel the comforting shape of the pistol beneath his jacket. He watched Horace wait and anxiously pace outside the entrance. He took another spoonful of kibble, he savored the taste.

The doors to the school opened and the flood of children emerged and scattered to other waiting carers. Eventually a girl not more than 10 skipped down the steps, her steps graceful and light in the low g spin, she made straight for Horace who scooped her up in his arms, the child’s long curly brown locks falling over Horace’s beaming face as he spun her round.

The big man absentmindedly and gently twirled the small girls’s brown hair in his fingers as they sat together on the Hillman Plaza bench, overlooking the only pond in downtown Baltimore. The girl, barely past her 6th year talked incessantly, the big man smiled and whilst not really listening, let the sounds of her voice sooth him. He enjoyed time with his niece, for he knew it wouldn’t last, her degenerative disease was only just being held in check by the drugs which were themselves becoming harder and harder to come by on basic. Whilst she talked about what she had done that day he turned over the card from someone called Tito who had promised him lucrative work, the likes of which he knew not, but the promise of money, money that could help prolong the life of May a little longer was too much to resist. May jumped upright, and grabbed the big man with both of her tiny hands, and pulled him towards the pond to chase the artificial ducks.

Horace placed his daughter on the ground and reached into his bag. With a squeal of delight a huge teddy bear emerged from the plastic sack, with a big ribbon tied around it. The big man’s arm froze, the spoonful of kibble steaming and stationary in front of his mouth. The young girl hugged Horace and then turned with him and walked back towards the habitats.

The big man slowly resumed his eating and finished the rest of his kibble. Standing he walked to the nearest recycler and dropped the pot, the spoon and the Jenson 9mm into the maw. He took a deep breath, and headed towards the dock master’s labor center. Today was the start of his new life.

Doctor Lal woke early. Clutching the bulb of coffee on one hand he sat on the observation platform on a functional, plain plastic bench and looked out across the plains of the small moon. The sulphur dioxide frost glistened in the faint glow of the distant sun as long shadows cast by errant rocks of ice and sediment, and the camouflaged communications array shortened as the moon rotated. The 42 hour day on the satellite was difficult to adjust to at first for those born on earth, and the not-quite a fifth of earth’s gravity also took many by surprise who came there to engage in their project.

He popped open the small cube containing his daily tabs, which would not only give him a kick-start but would also trick his muscles and brain into working effectively for the next 30 hours. He emptied 2 of the green/grey capsules into his mouth directly from the box and swallowed them with a mouthful of rich coffee. He took one last look at the great mass of Jupiter watching over the moon like a benevolent father, before walking to the panel and calling the service elevator that would take him down to the old abandoned mine.

The old mine operated for only 15 years, extracting the silicates that lay between the moon’s metal core and it’s outer ice shroud. The low gravity made mining less of a challenge, but the atmosphere was unforgiving, as was the volcanic activity that once wracked the region. Fortunately there had been few tremors since his arrival, and only the distant plumes of sulphur and sulphur dioxide, exuding 500km skyward betrayed any indication of the conditions that brought the mining operation to an end. The old mine proved an ideal location for the project.

The elevator came to the end of it’s 2km decent, Lal straightened his white tunic, adjusted his tie and headed out into the laboratory administration wing, to brief the research team on the day’s task.

The first sign of trouble came in the form of a blinking light, indicating a malfunction on the elevator shaft upper doors, and tiny readout next to it that proclaimed a minor air pressure imbalance.

Doctor Lal was in the middle of a complex discussion on neural-pathway junctions and spat an order to the head of the security team to go and put a halt to the interruption.

The muffled sound of low velocity, anti personnel rounds could be heard in the research room, but only Lal and his second, Torrick looked up. The remainder of the team sat in lines along the wall, hooked into their personal VR research worlds, moving holographic atomic structures onto other more complex diagrams. They didn't react. Lal and Torrick stood sharply as the door to the room was bathed in 100 degree thermite halo and erupted in a shower of sparks. Lal and Torrick, bent over and shielded their eyes, the lights flickered in the ceiling and on the research teams’ feeds, and then changed colour as the emergency power kicked in. Torrick stepped forward towards the door, Lal reached out a hand to try to stop him, but he missed him by an inch. Guns raised, the first marine stepped through, identified an approaching hostile and laced him from groin to throat with tungsten tipped flechettes. Torrick dropped like a dead-weight, but slowly, and came to settle in an odd crouched position, the blood pooling and then slowly dripping to the floor. Others followed behind the first and fanned out around the room and surrounding corridors as if Lal wasn’t even there, shouting “Clear!” and other such words. Lal remained absolutely still.

Eventually, one of the marines stepped in front of him and removed his helmet. A young male, clean shaven with a southern drawl looked at him. “Doctor Leopold Lal?”, Lal nodded. The marine spoke to no-one in particular without taking his eyes off the doctor. “Target secure sir, you can make entry now.”

A Few Weeks Ago in The Belt

The clunk of mag boots reverberated in the short, pressurised docking tube. The plexiglass walls gave a good view of the sweeping arc of Tycho Station’s upper decks, across the crowded moorings. Small drones and automated shuttles zipped like fireflies around the ships gathered there, for the uninitiated, a mesmerising sight of hustle and bustle, a ballet in a tiger’s lair. The freezing vacuum of space always had the final word, and it was never compassionate. The crew had seen it all before, and adjusted their rucksacks full of the trappings of dock leave and hard negotiation.

The airlock cycled as they approached the old frigate, and each in turn looked at the freshly welded, embossed plaque on the inner compartment before heading inside to their stations, ‘INDEPENDENT STARSHIP PROMETHEAN, SERIAL NUMBER TYC-2019-ASNT. OWNED AND OPERATED BY…’ Smiling to themselves as they noted their names beneath the edict.

‘This is Tycho Control, your departure window is clear. Rotational thrust is in the green. Unlocking umbilicals in three, two, one.’ Green lights blinked on Angelus’ panel. ‘ Docking clamps disengaging in three, two, one.’ The Promethean shuddered free of Tycho, as super-heated steam thrusters pushed the Promethean off from the dock, Angelus fired several dorsal thrusters to bring the ship about. ‘ ISS Promethean you are free of the station, fail safe drive control to you at 5km, prosperous travels Promethean...Tycho out.’

Angelus spoke into the ships com, ‘Strap in everyone, lets make some distance, i’ll signal when I cut the drive and we can all go and get something to eat without spilling the coffee.’

The pulsing navigation lights from Tycho eventually faded, then disappeared as the Promethean charted its course. Fred Jonson, standing at the window of his office, a scotch in one hand, watched them go.

The wrench floated within easy reach, twitched as the vacuum sealed glove grabbed it, and was put to work on the last bolt on the heat exchanger control unit.

Belter engineering pissed Janus off like nothing else. The doctrine that he grew accustomed to on Mars was little preparation for the hodge podge shortcuts and jury rigs that seemed to hold every Belter system together, against all reason, and time and time again failed to cause some kind of catastrophic failure. Janus felt like he was living in some kind of time bomb which stubbornly, yet thankfully refused to go off. Whilst it wasn’t the neatest, or even the safest, he had to admit to himself that it worked, and having experienced the conditions and economic strife that Belters had grown accustomed to over the last few years, he couldn’t help but admire their stubbornness to exist. In a way the martians and Belters had more in common than either party would care to entertain. Everything and nothing he had been taught and picked up across bar tables and classrooms during his time on mars was true.

“I'm done here Bill, just setting the seals on number 4”. Janus spoke into his helmet com, causing a bloom of frost on his poly-carbonate visor, which quickly dissipated before he exhaled again. “Roger that Jan, I’m heading inside, If i get there before you i’ll run a diag and see if it’s still showing a rise, if it isn’t, it’s a triumph of Martian training, if it is, it’s shitty Belter systems.” Janus chuckled and gave the affirmative.

Janus turned and grabbed the first of a series of battered handrails that would lead him from the docks to the airlock, clicking his lifeline from rung to rung as he went. He looked out across the docks when a light blinked inside his visor down and to the left. “ Are you getting that Bill?” he asked as he reached the airlock, with no sign of his partner Janus assumed he was already inside running tests. “Sure am boss, seems like this pile of shit sprung a radiation leak, everyone is to head to designated shielded areas which is weird huh boss?” Janus thought for a moment and cycled the airlock, “Yeah it is, we don’t have any DSA’s for that kind of thing, what the fuck is going on, drill?” Janus inquired. “If it’s a drill, it’s a f@#king realistic one, there’s guys with guns down here.”

The station was in panic, Janus kept his suit on, activated his mag boots, flipped his lid up and started pushing through the crowds to his workshop, he passed a handful of what appeared to be dock hands brandishing very real looking rifles, pushing people down corridors and onto transit cars, he ducked out of their view and closed his workshop door behind him. He went straight to his terminal to get access to the station’s engineering and environmental diagnostic systems. After the third time he removed his gloves to make sure the sensor picked up the shape he drew in the air correctly, that should allow him access, and slammed his fist down on the table knocking over a half drank bulb of this morning cycle’s coffee. “F@#k!” he said to no one and everyone. He turned and headed to a yellow plastic flight case, unclipped the clasp and lifted out a small cylindrical device, manipulated a couple of buttons and the readout on the side came to life, and immediately started spewing forth readings. It took a few moments for him to process his situation.

Heading to his door, which was of the old fashioned, swinging variety he stopped. Outside there were no longer the sounds of panic, an eerie quiet fell, then at the edge of his hearing, instructions, orders and affirmations. He opened the door, clutching his rad counter in his right hand.

Before him stood 3 surprised men wearing white lab coats, setting up something on three legs, not unlike an old fashioned camera, they took a cursory glance at the crazy engineer, admired his enthusiasm for a moment, then got back to doing what the hell it was they were doing. The look of surprise was also mirrored on the faces of the two armed figures wearing dock workers’ jumpsuits and sporting a variety of tattoos. Both growled and headed toward him shouting at him in Belter creole so fast his head swam.

“What...the...F@#K….is….going...on…, there’s NO radiation!” he brandished his counter in his hand accusatively at the scientists pointing at the read out with his left finger.

Belters may not be the prettiest of engineers, nor are they the most disciplined. They never take well to authority. This came home sharply to Janus in the form of the surprised look on his face as the slug entered his forehead and bloomed behind him, painting the door of his workshop a colour of red that should never be.

Previously. On the Expanse…

Ships exploded. Deals were made with honest cops (who later went for a walk in the dark). Crewmen were investigated and found murdered. Contacts were made and Chicken bought for them. Plots were uncovered and Synth pork was cooked.

Ships were “acquired” and Cruise ships were visited (while Martian Frigates were destroyed on the way). Bombs were defused. Computers were hacked and Bigger Ships were “Acquired”. Unknown Sons and long lost brothers were found and Deaths were faked.

Repairs were done and Torpedoes were tampered with by people who really shouldn’t (all in secret of course). Deals were made and Asteroids were visited. Airlocks were hacked, Goo was discovered and big tough Lunan Marines soiled their Vacsuits while running at high speed.

Lunans were calmed down and asteroid bases were investigated. Carnage was found And Terrorist leaders/foster fathers were now psychic prisoners. People were flung into walls and Nukes were detonated. Asteroids were destroyed.

Goo was stored in a thermos. Mistakes were made. Doctors were mercifully not thrown out of airlocks when they endangered the entire ship. Deals were made with “legitimate” terrorists. Ships were resupplied. Rescue missions were given and pleasure moons were shattered. People were rescued. Faces were recognised. Frigates appeared out of nowhere. Escapes were made and realisations come to. Big ass frigates were turned around to face puny shuttles and stories were to be continued…

That is quite possibly the best write up today well done