Chapter One
The Pony Express
USNSF Bunker Hill 12 February 2105
As the Orion-class tug maneuvered alongside the B.O.C. Dangerfield, one of the Weyland Corporation's huge Bulk Ore Carriers, one docking arm reached out from the orbital ore processing ship and latched onto the tug's primary docking collar; two additional arms grabbed the B.O.C. Once attached, and after hard-seals were confirmed on the primary chute, loading belts reached into the carrier's first container, and almost immediately the ore carrier's load of raw mineral ores spun into one of the ore processing ship's intake conveyors. The ore carrier's entire load, all six bulk containers, would be offloaded within two hours; once this evolution was complete the carrier's crew would board a shuttle and head down to the Martian surface for a few days of R&R -- before shuttling back up to their ship and heading back out to the asteroid belt for another billion dollar load.
Fleets of space-going B.O.C.s were constantly shuttling out to and returning from the belt, with most of the processed ore they transported being used for the massive construction and colonization projects on both the Moon and Mars. The huge carriers moved out to the belt at one half standard G, assaying potential targets along their way. Once a new target asteroid was identified, and after confirmation that no other outfit had staked a prior claim, the captain would register the crew's claim and then the carrier would make its approach to the rock. After the arms were aligned, typically grappling hooks secured the asteroid and pulled the rock close to one of six empty bulk ore containers. Before loading, the carrier's mining crew would transfer to the surface of the rock and begin the hard work of identifying mineral veins suitable for extraction and then guide the container's extraction bits into place, with the rough ore extracted and transferred to the next empty bulk ore container. Within a matter of days the huge carrier, with a fresh load of unrefined ore loaded, would return to one of a dozen processing ships stationed between Earth's moon and Mars, and once the asteroid's ores were roughly separated and processed this semi-refined material would be reloaded into a lunar tug's container. Once loaded, the much smaller tug would proceed to one of six primary orbital processing facilities -- and there were currently two each around the Moon, Mars, and -- of course -- Earth.
Once docked at one of the primary processing ships, the asteroid's semi-refined ores would be further pulverized and its constituent minerals assayed and weighed; payment would then be agreed upon and the tug would drop into a parking orbit just off the much larger processing ship. The tug's crew would typically head down to the surface for a few days of clinically mandated debauchery and then be on their way back out to Mars orbit to collect more rock. The work was dangerous and the pay was outrageously high; because of the high pay absolutely no androids were permitted, or even tolerated.
Captain Denton Ripley watched as the latest tug disengaged from the processing ship from the vantage of the Captain's chair on board the USNSF Bunker Hill, which was currently on-station five kilometers 'above' the action; Bunker Hill was orbiting Mars, and had been for years; at the moment the rusty-red planet was just 1800 kilometers 'below' his ship. Ripley watched a new arrival, another massive bulk ore carrier, assume a standard parking formation 'above' the processing ship from Bunker Hill's flight operations bridge, located port side forward, yet only when the departing tug was well away from the ore ship did he relax. Now he turned his attention to an inbound Naval Space Force cruiser, heading into the inner solar system and now just lining-up to sling-shot around Mars, the trajectory on his plot showing the USNSF Stavridis heading for Gateway Alpha in geosynchronous orbit around Earth. Though the ship was not yet visible to the naked eye from this distance, traffic control had alerted the third shift watch commander of her priority transit and his crew had picked up the cruiser on deep space scans. And that had been within minutes of her arrival in the solar system. As Stavridis was an "unscheduled" transit, everyone was now paying close attention, because unscheduled transits usually meant trouble, in one form or another. Besides, Stavridis was one of the few ships fitted with the still top secret Alderson drive, so she was rumored to be one of the first ships in the fleet capable of faster-than-light travel, and that fact alone made this transit a Very Big Deal.
"Why are you in such a goddamn hurry," Ripley whispered as he watched the updated track on C-I-Cs central display.
Commander Louise Brennan, Bunker Hill's navigator, had worked out the cruiser's track as soon as it appeared on long range scans. Stavridis was still under heavy acceleration too, meaning her crew had been strapped to their gel-filled G-couches for days on end, and they would have to further endure exceptionally heavy G-forces when Stavridis made her braking burn to enter Earth orbit. Stavridis was carrying too much delta-V for a direct approach to the Gateway, yet even at their current velocity it would take them another four days to reach Earth using the standard published orbital approach. Even so, at least Stavridis's crew would be able to communicate with the Gateway without the interminable time delays experienced when out beyond the Oort Cloud.
Ripley was really beginning to hate this ship -- the Bunker Hill -- even though she was 'his' -- for the moment, anyway. And he was really beginning to wonder why he hadn't taken early retirement to work for The Company -- as the Weyland-Yutani Consortium was colloquially known these days. Yes, the pay in the Space Force was decent enough, relatively speaking anyway, and the chow wasn't all that bad -- usually. Still, babysitting a ship like this was a more than adequate job for any of the newer model androids, not an Academy graduate with four years of deep space time under his belt -- and one major battle, too. Even with a human crew of ten onboard, he often went days without talking to another person. A real human being, that is.
And it wasn't that he disliked androids. They were likable enough -- in their way. Still, the mass revolts staged by Weyland's first generation Davids had exacted a terrible toll in both trust and human life, a breach of trust that in human terms had not yet, and might not ever be, fully repaired. And though true enough, both the Walter as well as the latest Gordon-class models had eventually been well received on the lunar colonies -- after a few years, anyway. Even this ship had a handful of Walters onboard, handling everything from reactor operations to exterior damage control duties.
Yet there was also one Gordon on board, too, and its presence was still considered somewhat controversial, perhaps because this 'Gordon' had been permanently assigned to him, and had been since it arrived. 'His' Gordon looked like every other unit manufactured by Weyland to date, right down to its auburn hair, green eyes and mottled freckles -- indeed, only its moral subroutines were considered tighter, though its astronavigation capabilities had been deemed second to none. His Gordon played chess and loved movies, especially American westerns from the mid-twentieth century -- an affinity Ripley did not share -- and 'Gordon' was almost always by Ripley's side, a fact of life that was driving the ship's executive officer more than a little mad.
As Ripley peered into the infinite, Stavridis's drive flared right on schedule, the massive fusion powered ion drive suddenly appearing in the vast night as she began her braking burn. He thought, perhaps as a prank, that he should call and ask their master if the crew was enjoying the G-forces. Then he measured the flaring drive -- because the light bloom was much bigger than simulations had predicted.
"Gordon? Did we just see an unexpected deceleration event?"
"Yes, Captain. Her deceleration just increased from 3.2Gs to 4.05 -- I would say they are in quite a hurry."
Ripley shook his head. At 4.05Gs standing up would be impossible; even lifting your head from the acceleration couch could prove fatal. "Goddamn...but I'd sure hate to be on that ship right now," he said...to no one in particular.
"Captain?" Gordon said. "There are currently two tugs inbound, both requesting permission to approach the Dandelion."
"How many processing bays are currently operational?"
"Four, sir. Two will remain closed during the current overhaul cycle, and for another 16 hours 12 minutes. There are currently two Sandoval-class tugs offloading water-ice from Europa; both should decouple and begin their return cycle to Jupiter within two standard hours."
"Approach control? Go ahead and route the carriers to bays one and five, and alert the tugs we have two inbound. Anyone else lining-up out there?"
"No, sir," the Bunker Hill's traffic controller replied, "the next arrivals are still 18 hours out."
"Tactical plot, please? Up-pole view will do for now."
"Yessir, polar-up view."
His stomach growled as the polar plot came up on the large central display -- one more time. 'Yeah...a goddamn monkey could do this job...' he muttered to himself. That was the old joke, anyway.
