Procyon-2/ Octavia
The domes covering the surface of the planet were black. Every inch of exposed surface was covered with solar-collection tiles to maximize the daily harvest from the harsh twins, Procyon A & B. Environmental systems kept the temperature in each dome and building mild. Outside, the suns-light had to be dampened with filters to avoid glare blindness, life under the domes was perpetual twilight. Broad-leaf plants engineered to absorb naked sunlight drank in Octavia’s CO2 blanket and expelled Oxygen.
“Looking at the total output from the automated factories in Lalande system, we see that the new control suite installs and software upgrades have improved the efficiency of each facility by an average margin of twelve percent and in this we’ve reached the absolute efficiency possible for the technology. We, in the production directorate, feel that even at peak efficiency, the Lalande factories will continue to meet quota for another two decades before new facilities have to be constructed to meet projected supply demanded.”
“Gross revenue?” Chairman Jean LeFleur always carried the microdisc with his Earthly lineage in his pocket. He could claim lineage to two kings of Europe, one pope, and an Old Earth director of the European Space Agency (ESA). Although he’d emigrated to the Procyon system, he kept the disc to remind himself of where he’d come from.
“Domestic consumption accounts for twenty percent of annual production, bringing approximately two billion Terran credits per quarter into our accounts. Another twenty percent goes in bulk to New Saxony… that’s eight-point-eight billion there. Forty percent goes to New Haven and brings back roughly twenty billion in revenue. The remaining ten percent are kept in inventory. All told, production from the Lalande system, after distribution, brings in thirty billion credits annually.”
The underling he was grilling could claim no such reputation. Lefleur didn’t know the young man’s name, but there were many people of Transterran Interstellar that he didn’t know… he figured that 99% of his employees were no more than faces passed in a corridor, but even nameless underlings deserved to be treated with respect. He’d learned that at his previous posting, where one day someone’s abused underling had brought a gun to work and painted the office walls interesting shades of red. “Let’s move on to the Tau Ceti system. How many factories do we have operating there?”
“Two dozen, sir. Most are in orbit, but we built a half dozen on the surface of New Saxony as a concession to the government there, they’re less efficient than those fully automated. Here, we’re producing general purpose meds that don’t require as much fine touching as those we’re manufacturing in Lalande, open supply analgesics and general purpose remedies. The factories here have not yet received any production upgrades yet, there’s also the human factor involved, so the quotas have been less stringent than in other facilities.”
“Put them next on the list for full automation. If the local government objects, remind them of our past… generosity,” Lefleur said and annotated the list he kept running on his personal data pad. “Express our condolences regarding the jobs lost and assure them that we’re taking steps to address the problem. I want a retraining program before we announce the factory upgrades. Where else can we funnel labor into?”
“Tau Ceti has many shipyards operating at minimum capacity. Jobs could be created in those few with the large pressure docks necessary to refit capital ships. As it is, we’ve only managed to get a small portion of the garrison fleet there upgraded and spaceworthy. The crews of those ships have been instrumental in completing the refits.”
“They ought to be, for what we’re paying them. Perhaps we can funnel some of our excess labor supplied into the EuroCon fleet,” LeFleur said and thought for a moment. “Inform the commander of Seven Kreigsmarine that we want him to begin weeding out the deadwood among the officer and enlisted corp. I want some fresh thinking in there... mercenary objections be damned,” He frowned as he programmed a query into his data pad that returned no hits. “What assets do we have ready for deployment?”
“Aquitaine, Storstrom, Salzburg, and Valencia, sir, with eight more ready by the end of second quarter. The regional offices of Dassault have been very helpful in supplying the necessary parts and technical support. If you’d like to see the expenses they’ve delivered for their services I can bring them up on your pad-screen.”
Lefleur created a new file and entered the names in. He nodded and looked up to meet the aide’s eyes. “I’ve seen them… quite a bargain. Twelve provinces. They ought to help us eradicate the pirate vermin we’ve been having such a hard time with lately.”
“I overheard something over the last several days that may be cause for concern, sir. Finding reloads has been a problem. Dassault Procyon is happy to provide us with their most current fighter technology, but in terms of self-guiding munitions, the old EuroCon arsenal may be insufficient for our needs. Much of the stockpile has deteriorated over time.”
“Do we have any contractors online?” Lefleur said and raised an eyebrow. The aide swallowed hard and tried not to tremble as he retrieved what information he had on the subject. The chairman/CEO’s patience had a finite limit.
The aide tried to slow his beating heart and said, “The Russians have expressed a willingness to supply us but their expendables are of questionable quality- copies of older NorCom designs.”
“Send negotiators to them immediately. See to it personally. Also begin checking the EuroCon stocks. A few positions can be opened in the directorate assigned to checking the stockpile for duds,” A laugh that ended when the chief of the security directorate came into the room from an adjoining office. The dour look usually pasted over his face combined with his square head tinged with graying hair earned him the nickname, ‘Frankenstein,’ though he was addressed in polite company as Raphael. Lefleur turned to the aide and said, “What’s your name, son?”
Another worried swallow as the aide said, “Kilgore, sir… Newton Kilgore.”
“Well done, Mister Kilgore. I expect to see again for the next briefing,” Lefleur said to the visible relief of the young man before him. “Your supervisor will be informed of your professionalism and excellence. Now if you would be so kind to excuse us please.”
“Of course.” Kilgore said and collected his things.
Lefleur watched him until he exited, then turned to Raphael and said, “What is it now? I admit that I almost dread seeing you anymore. You always bring me such bad news.”
Raphael was not the sort to tremble, even in the face of death, something that Lefleur occasionally felt the need to met out. He looked Lefleur in the eye, gave him a short, humble bow, and said, “I regret to report that our systems have been penetrated, sir… two months ago. Some our most sensitive files have been compromised.”
Lefleur sighed. Industrial espionage was one of the constants he’d come to realize came along with the business. “But you caught the last agent-Auric, her name was?”
“She was working in tandem. Under questioning she revealed the name Argent but blocked our further attempts to follow that line. We thought it might be an attempt to mislead us until our monitoring systems picked up the system interruptions indicating a break-in.”
Chairman Lefleur went livid. “Rescreen all hires going back for the last year from all offices!” He quickly calmed himself. “What files were… compromised?”
“The intruder, assuming that it was Argent, seemed particularly interested in the data core from Lab number four,” Raphael said. “The source formula for our new Serenity was copied, at least in part, before we were able to shut down the connection. This is probably the most serious breach.”
“How did he get in?” Lefleur demanded.
