All That Sparkles

By Hayden Trenholm

GEORGE CLAMBERED TO THE TOP of the ridge, picking his way through razor shards of frozen lava that made up much of the surface of Gabriel Two. The suit ventilators fought the smell of his sweat and the spicy stew he had for lunch. He hated working outside the pressurized confines of Port Dolphus but Marco insisted. Even here, on the frontier, the arm of the Patrol was long, though they spent most of their time staring out into the dark unknown of space, wondering if, or more likely when, the Karin raiders would return.

No sign of life showed around the cluster of squat grey buildings below or on the empty gravel landing pad beyond. On the far side of the field, lava glow and work lights flickered near the processing plant but no one there would be looking in his direction. Once line-of-sight was broken, he would be on his own. George shrugged inside his suit and descended to the cave.

He had never intended to become a thief. He intended to become an engineer, marry his high school sweetheart, and be a better father than his own had been. He had no regrets there at least. Maybe his younger brother, Sam, had wanted the same things. Instead all Sam found was a cold death and a mountain of debt. Debt that somehow had become George’s responsibility to pay. It was love of family that brought him to the rare earth mines; it was love of family that led him to steal semi-precious stones for Marco’s cartel.

Chrondites. The purer ones were used in mid-range jewelry; the rest found their way into pharmaplants as a key component in drugs used to sustain aquaculture. The peculiar chemistry of the rare earth rich lava and their low mass made it cheaper to ship them home than manufacture in orbital factories. Still, it was what Marco said he wanted. Who was George to question a criminal genius?

The cave was invisible until you were right on top of it, a narrow cleft in the rock barely large enough for a body to pass sideways. It widened after a few steps into a ragged chamber lined with natural shelves and a floor of ropy stone. George slid through the entrance, careful not to let his pressure suit scrape against the serrated edges of the opening. Only a fool would risk a puncture this far from base.

The actinic glare of Gabriel Prime drew a sharp line between painful brightness and total dark. He felt his way around a corner as his visor whirred through the EM spectrum in a vain attempt to find illuminations. Only when well inside did he risk the suit’s external lights. He shuddered against the sudden chill as the suit adjusted to the dark.

Marco wasn’t there. No surprise. They had only met in person twice. If a meeting in near dark separated by radiation-hardened suits and two meters of vacuum could be called personal. Marco’s suit didn’t even have the usual external markings to indicate clan, planet or political allegiance.

George didn’t mind. Their relationship was about money—a lot of it. He had no interest in forming a lasting bond with the man. He didn’t know how Marco came and went in a place where every stranger was a curiosity, and he didn’t care.

He took the data chip from its usual place and replaced it on the shelf with a satchel of gems. George shoved the chip into the suit’s interface and checked the code. A significant sum had been paid against his debt; a much smaller amount into his family’s account on Earth. By his estimate, three more deliveries, four at the most, and he would be able to buy out his contract and purchase passage home. There might even be enough cash to open the bed and breakfast of Janet’s dreams.

Assuming Marco and his associates would let him quit.

***

George fixed a courteous smile on his face as he waited for the airlock to cycle open. As operations chief, he was part of the welcoming committee whenever company brass came through. He couldn’t fake the enthusiasm of his boss, Tunde Achebo, who actually enjoyed the rounds of inspections and audits, but he knew better than to show his true feelings. A few quick handshakes and pleasantries and he could be back on the line, doing his best to enrich both the company and his other, secret, employer.

“Hello, Porgee,” the inspector said, as the door slid open. The smile froze on George’s lips. Her little-girl voice, unchanged after nearly twenty years, still lacerated his nerves; the taunting nickname still caused bile to rise in his throat. Selene Nakimura had tormented his pudgy younger self in junior high and then proceeded to find new ways to ruin his life throughout their high school and university years. He hadn’t seen her since she accepted top honours in engineering on graduation day but he still hated the sight of her.

“Hello, Selene.” She grabbed his proffered hand and squeezed it hard, releasing it before he could respond.

“I can’t tell you how much I’ve been looking forward to this,” she said.

I bet you have, thought George glumly.

***

The inspection went smoothly. Selene made a few suggestions for augmenting the extraction rate and changing the shift structure to maximize productivity. Nothing George hadn’t thought of himself. The difference, as always, was that Selene had the courage of her convictions and didn’t hesitate to present her views forcefully. Achebo looked sadly at George as he agreed to each of the changes.

“And I’ve got some suggestions for improving security which we can discuss in private,” said Selene, staring pointedly at George. “Better internal monitoring against theft and some new patterns for external scans. Plants like these were easy picking for the Karin.”

Achebo’s skin went grey. Even six years after the war had dribbled to an end, mention of the mysterious Karin still elicited fear in most sensible people.

George was glad when the inspection was over. Selene was always looking for a chance to show him up and, it seemed, he was always ready to give her the opportunity. He declined Achebo’s offer to join them at dinner, professing eagerness to put Selene’s suggestions into practice. Selene’s launch window was several hours away but George knew dinner with Achebo was always a drawn- out affair with multiple courses and copious amounts of the local brew. He had joined Achebo once or twice in the past—but had stopped once he had gotten what he needed from the man to carry out Marco’s bidding.

Selene hadn’t spotted the diverter that skimmed the best of the stones out of the concentrate as it moved from the lava flow to the refinery. The device was by necessity small and was always in danger of overflowing or, worse yet, jamming. It hadn’t happened yet, but he couldn’t afford alarm bells drawing attention to the system, not while Selene was still on Gabriel Two.

George was wedged under the conveyance tube, tightening the last screws on the diverter, when he heard the door behind him sigh open. He jerked upright, slamming his head against the metal bracket and dropping his power driver. The tool rang off the metal floor like a death knell.

Selene was leaning in the doorframe, a smile twisting her lips. Achebo hovered behind one shoulder; his eyes creased with worry, and sweat beaded on his brow. More ominously, Lt. Gunderson, head of security, loomed over the other; her face, impassive.

“Chrondite production from this facility has been marginally low ever since you took this assignment,” said Selene. “Not so low as to trigger any alarms. Until I looked at it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said George. Selene must have had access to some sophisticated analysis for those discrepancies to show up. At least, I had time to empty the reservoir, he thought. He tried not to look at the shielded wall panel behind which the gems were stashed.

“Give it up, Porgee. I can spot a system modification from a mile off.”

“I added a spectrometer. My own design. I was worried about corrosives contaminating the system.” Half-truths were better than lies; the front end of the diverter was exactly that. As long as she didn’t dismantle it, he would be fine.

No chance of that.

The disassembled unit, spread across his workbench appeared innocent enough— as George had designed it to be. The same couldn’t be said for the two high-end chrondites lodged in the catch basin, scooped up in the few minutes since the device was reattached. My luck, thought George, bad as usual.

“You always were a clever guy, Porgee. Clever but none too smart.” Selene turned to Gunderson. “Place him under arrest until I can arrange transport back to Centauri for his trial.”

“Centauri?” asked George.

“You didn’t think I’d ship you back to Earth, did you? No conjugal visits for you, Porgee.”

“I’m sure the company will thank you for shutting down the plant,” snarled George. “There’s no one else on this rock qualified to run this system.”

“Sure there is,” said Selene. “I’ve wanted to get back in the field. Until a replacement arrives, I can take your job. Feel familiar, Porgee?”

George’s shoulders slumped. It felt all too familiar.

***

Port Dolphus was too small to have a real jail. Instead, Gunderson stripped the codes from his identification file and moved him to a room at the transient centre. The ten square meter chamber still reeked of Selene’s perfume; she presumably was occupying his studio apartment in company quarters.

“Report in at the start of every shift,” Gunderson said. “Stay within the confines of the port facility and don’t try to access the communications array.”

“Sure,” said George. “It’s not like there’s any place to go. Look, Amy, I didn’t do anything wrong. I’m not guilty of anything other than doing my job.”

“Nobody ever is, Mister Everson.” She seemed more sorrowful than angry. “Don’t forget what I told you. You’d find a storage locker a lot less comfortable than this.”

George sat on the bed with his head in his hands. How was he going to explain everything to Janet and the kids? How was he going to explain it to Marco? He wondered if the cartel’s reach extended into the prisons on Centauri.

The communications unit pinged. Undoubtedly, Selene calling to rub it in, thought George. He tried to ignore it but the steady beep only grew louder, more insistent. The mute didn’t seem to be functional.

George slammed his hand on the controls. “What do you want now?”

The screen lit up, showing nothing but a steady pearlescent grey.

“You still owe us eight hundred carats.” Marco’s staccato accent was unmistakable. George had often wondered what colony planet he came from.

“Yeah, about that. There have been developments.”

“We know all about your dismissal.” Bad news traveled fast, it seemed. Marco must have more than one agent on the planet. “It changes nothing. You will have to find another way.”

“Should we be talking like this? I am under arrest, you know.”

Marco’s laugh barked from the speaker. “The line is secure. No one knows this unit is even functional. We want our gems.”

George stared at the blank screen. Could the cartel override the company’s communications system that thoroughly? It wasn’t military standard but it was the next best thing. Of, course if Marco was military, it would explain a lot.

“Look, even if I could get to the gems I collected before I was caught, it wouldn’t pay off my brother’s debt.”

“Your debt. You agreed to take it on in exchange for certain favours.”

Yeah, thought George, passage home for Sam’s wife and son and return of his body for proper burial. The particulars of his brother’s death had been sparse; prospectors working in the disputed zone seldom left detailed records of what they were doing. But there had been proof enough—vaguely worded contracts and dubious court orders—that Sam owed someone a lot of money. But family was family.

“It doesn’t change the fact that ...” George began again.

“There is no further need for stealth. The company ships more than six thousand carats a month. The minerals are lower potency than we prefer but the quantity makes up for it. Provide those to us and we will consider the matter settled.”

“I no more have access to those than to ...”

Marco cut him off again. “We have every faith in your abilities, George. You’re a clever man.”

Clever, thought George, but not too smart.

“And if I refuse?”

There was a long pause before Marco replied, like he was searching through a data base for the most effective threat. “We know where your family lives. We’ll be in touch. After you have the stones.”

***

Getting the gems would be the easy part. No one knew the plant systems better than George; not Achebo who had taken over as administrator six months after George’s arrival, and certainly not Selene. She would undoubtedly have studied the factory schematics before coming to Gabriel Two, but the gap between what the architect designed and what the foreman delivered grew wider the farther from Earth the project was built. Virtually every system on the planet was a jury-rigged compromise born of missed shipments and unexpected conditions. George himself had modified half the operation in the two years since his arrival; most of the changes weren’t fully documented. The ones he made to security—that let him make unrecorded excursions beyond the perimeter, for example—were recorded only in George’s head.

The problem, of course, was what to do with them once he had them. He could deliver the stones to the drop-off but what then? It was only Selene’s word against his that the diverter’s sole purpose was to steal chrondites. If it weren’t for the two gems found inside the device, she wouldn’t have much of case at all. A smart lawyer could probably get him off with a dismissal and a fine; even a stupid one, a short sentence and deportation back to Earth. Breaking into secure storage and stealing the monthly shipment out from under her nose was another matter. Even if he succeeded in keeping off the security record, there would be little doubt who had done it. Once the Patrol was certain of the perp, evidence that supported their conclusion had a funny way of appearing.

If Marco wanted a final pickup, George would have to be part of the package.

Time was of the essence. Every hour that went by increased the chance that Selene would discover his modifications to the security system or would make changes to the plant’s schedules and routines. His ability to predict where everyone would be at any given moment was one of his biggest advantages. If he lost that, the chance of him getting off of the plant with the gems, let alone away from the Dolphus system, fell nearly to zero. Night shift, when the admin staff and scientists went home and the plant population dropped from nearly two hundred to less than fifty, started in six hours. That was how long he had to plan the heist and stage his getaway.

***

A factory that mined red hot lava was a dangerous place. There were three emergency exits on each level of the plant, two into the near vacuum of Gabriel Two and one into the port facility. They were designed to open one way and to trigger an alarm whenever they were used; ten of twelve did exactly that.

George ran his fingers along the wall beside the exit on the maintenance level. The heavy thrum of circulators matched the steady throbbing pulse in his temples. The seam was invisible in the dim light and barely detectable by touch. By the time George found and peeled away the plasti-steel patch, his shirt was drenched in sweat. He wiped his hands on his jeans and drew the entry code on the screen beneath. The door swung open with the faint pop of equalizing pressures. The familiar smells of ozone and hot oil puffed into his face.

The corridor beyond was dimly lit; no flashing red lights, at least. If an alarm had been triggered, there was no sign of it here. As expected, the lowest level of the plant was abandoned, the labs shuttered for the night, and the systems running on automatic. He had long since modified the surveillance grid to leave a corridor of blind spots to let him move from place to place in the plant without being detected. Even in the first few weeks of his criminal career he knew that someday he would need a way out. He hadn’t expected to use it as a way in.

George padded down the hall to the stairs and climbed up three levels to the administrative centre. It, too, was shuttered and mostly dark. A thin line of light showed under the door to security, where Gunderson or, more likely, one of her constables would be drinking synth-coffee and monitoring the grid. Fortunately, his destination lay in the opposite direction.

The primary output of the plant—rare earths and complex alloys vital to interstellar travel and communication—were kept in sealed transport pods at a secure location at the Port. Chrondites were a bi-product of the lava flow, a slight addition to the cash flow but not so important to the bottom line that the fraction George had been skimming off drew much attention. Until that bitch Selene came along. They were stored in the safe in the administrator’s office.

The safe was locked to Achebo’s biometrics. George had endured an interminable dinner and spent a month’s liquor rations to get the administrator drunk enough to take a holo-image of his retina and a dozen DNA swabs. George packed these gems into his utility belt.

Another five hundred carats of high quality chrondites sat behind the wall of the lava access station. He’d need a stake if he was going to start a new life on a frontier world. He’d need cash if he was ever going to see Janet and the kids again. That part of the plant was lightly staffed during the day—it was why he had installed the diverter there—but even at night, there was a risk someone would be taking readings or doing routine maintenance. It was a risk he was willing to take. If he couldn’t see his family again, what was the point of the last three years?

For once his luck seemed to hold. The hallway from the stairwell to the access station was dim and empty, the only sound the rustle of his paper shoes on the carpeted floor. George slipped into the room, shutting the door behind him.

As soon as he triggered the hidden controls and the shielded panel slid open, he knew Selene had screwed him again. She had always been one step ahead of him and tonight was no exception. She must have suspected he would have configured a back door and compromised the security system. She may not have had the time to find the code or search every possible entry point, but she had more than enough to set a trap here. The lights flickered as the lockdown protocols sucked energy from the system.

The external exits would still work but only if he could set off the emergency alarms and, for that, he needed a real crisis. And he needed it before Gunderson and her men could suit up and track him down.

The answer was right in front of him. The lava flow passed right beneath his feet on its way to the processing plant. If he closed the valves here without first redirecting the flow into the bypass system, the pressure would reach critical levels in minutes. Plant evacuation would be ordered as a precautionary measure. Even if the automatic systems didn’t kick in, Selene would have plenty of time to get to central control and trigger the fail-safe. By that time, he would be long gone.

Though where he would go was another matter.

George was sure he could already hear the heavy tread of Gunderson and her storm troopers on the stairs by the time he had stripped away the floor plates to reveal the row of valve controls. He hesitated for a moment. What if there were pressure fluctuations. What if the lava stream was running hot? What if you never see your family again? He ran his fingers across the access plates and listened to the satisfying whir of the valves closing. Then to make sure that no one but Selene could solve the problem he smashed the access screens with the corner of one of the steel floor panels.

Gunderson was coming out of the stairwell as George stepped back in the hall. And she wasn’t alone; two burly green-shirts were right behind her. The security chief yelled at him to stop, drawing and aiming her pistol as she did. George threw himself against the wall as a pair of sparking electro-darts whizzed past his shoulder. He tore around the corner before she could recharge. The pounding of heavy boots followed hard behind.

The comforting whoop of the emergency klaxons filled the hall and amber beacons signalled a first-stage alert. Gunderson cursed and broke off pursuit; she and her men were responsible, first and foremost, for the safety of the plant and the people who worked within it. A second-rate thief would have to wait.

George didn’t slow down. He had ten minutes, at most, before Selene had the situation under control. It would take half that long to get to the far emergency exit and suit up. It was a long haul from the plant to the pickup point. Running in a pressure suit wasn’t recommended but he had seen it done during training—though he himself had never tried it.

He passed no one as he sped through the corridors; either the level was indeed empty or they had taken a different route to safety. His suit was still in its locker. Gunderson had affixed a pair of security seals but they were no more immune to George’s fixes than the rest of the system. He started the airlock cycle before he even finished fastening the final latches on the helmet. The final stop whispered closed as the outer doors popped open.

The warning light over the door shifted from yellow to orange; inside the klaxon would have stopped whooping and been replaced by harsher alarms. George frowned. Selene should have at least stabilized the flow by now.

Not his problem.

The safest route was to skirt along the side of the plant and then follow the line of surface structures that marked the tunnel between plant and port. That would keep him out of sight for most of the trip. The quickest course was straight across the landing field and past the main port gates in full view of anyone who cared to look.

All my life I played it safe, thought George. And look where it got me. He was halfway across the gravel pad when the external lights on the plant began flashing red, staining the field and the port buildings beyond the color of blood.

That’s not right, he thought, his feet slowing despite his desire to keep running. He turned to look back at the mine. The emergency lights turned a steady red; workers were tumbling out of the exits: some in suits; others in baggy evac-bags, little more than rubber balloons cinched at ankle and wrist, scant protection against the vacuum. A simple puncture on the rough stone of the field was a quick and nasty death.

George groaned, torn between the need to escape and the desire to help. He rolled his eyes heavenward. Why me?

It was only a brief flash, there and then gone again, but it was enough. He had never seen one in person, few people had who lived to tell about it but he had seen the vids; no one who came to a frontier planet could escape that. The shape of a Karin raider, all spikes and twisted blocks, was unmistakable.

As if things weren’t already bad enough.

He was still searching black sky for another glimpse of the ship when the back end of the plant erupted in a gusher of molten rock. The automatic systems had failed or the bypass system hadn’t engaged properly.

Or Selene didn’t know as much about running the plant as she thought.

The chrondites in his suit satchel weighed on him like freedom and family. But the people he had worked with had families, too. Hell, they were family. A lava breach would have slammed shut the safety bulkheads; anyone on the port side of the plant wasn’t getting out unless he got them out.

One slow footstep, then another, then he was running back to the closest emergency exit. His communit buzzed as he reached the door.

“What are you doing, George?” It was Marco. His voice held a faint quaver.

“There are people trapped in there.” The door didn’t respond to his override codes. Selene had finally cracked his lockout.

“You have the chrondites.”

“Yes.” George pounded the door in frustration.

“Then step out onto the field,” Marco rasped. “We are sending a shuttle for you.”

The light above the door cycled from red to green. A few seconds later the airlock popped open. Achebo’s suit, decorated with geometric motifs, was unmistakable. If he recognized George, he gave no indication. He was leading three others in evac-bags linked together on a tether. Third in line was Selene.

George stepped in front of Achebo. The man tried to step around him, stopping only when George put his hand on his shoulder.

“Tunde, is everyone out?”

Achebo turned slowly to face him. “What?” he rasped.

“Did you and Selene get everyone out? There’s a breach”

“You think I don’t know,” he said, his voice breaking. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. We ... there was nothing more we could do. I’m nothing but a goddamn administrator, George.”

“But Selene. She’s a better engineer than I ever was.”

“Once maybe. She was more concerned with catching you than fixing the problem.” Achebo pushed George’s hand away. “I need to get these people to safety.”

“I can’t do it by myself,” said George.

Another jet of lava burst against the horizon. If someone didn’t get the bypass operating again, no place would be safe. The plant was built to withstand direct contact with the lava—for a while at least. The Port wasn’t.

Selene was saying something else but George couldn’t hear her over the buzz of static on his communit. Marco again. He sounded angry now, more than angry, desperate. “George, you need to step onto the field. It’s a matter of life and ...” George toggled the speaker off. Death, he finished in his own head. Probably mine.

Achebo pushed past George onto the field, hauling the others after him.

Selene resisted, struggling to unhook the tether. She pitched forward over the rim of the airlock and tumbled slowly to the ground, hands extended to break her fall. George grabbed at her but the evac-bag offered no purchase. Moist air burst in a cloud from the tear at her knee even as the tether released.

The airlock door was starting to cycle shut. George dug his fingers into the fabric of the bag; it didn’t matter if he tore it now. Selene had only seconds before her air disappeared into the icy emptiness. He hauled her through the closing door. As soon as he heard the faint clang of the alarm, he pulled away the rest of the bag before the material could collapse against her face in the rising pressure of the inrushing air. George loosened the faceplate on his helmet.

“We need to get back to central control,” said George. “We may still be able to engage the diverters. If you’re up to it”

Selene nodded and took a deep shuddering breath. “Thanks, Po ... George. You saved my life.”

“For now,” said George. The inner airlock slid open. “What happened? Those systems should have been child’s play for you.”

“Maybe,” said Selene. “If I’d paid attention to them. I should have dealt with the lava myself but I left it to the fail-safes. I was more concerned about security.”

“No engineer would ever—”

Selene blushed and looked away. “Things aren’t always what they seem. I’ve got a knack for tinkering but I’m not an engineer.”

“You graduated head of our class.” George pulled away a panel to access the bulkhead controls. He shook his head at the blinking pattern of red and amber lights.

Selene pushed George aside and tapped code until the door swung open. George followed her into the dim central corridor, the smell of ozone burning in his nose. “Deep cover,” Selene said. “My father is head of Patrol intelligence. He made arrangements.”

“I find that hard to believe ...”

“You always were too good for this universe, George.” Her voice carried none of its usual sarcasm.

“I guess that’s why I ended up as a petty thief instead of a master criminal.”

“You ended up as a good man.”

“Is that why you had me arrested?” Selene was working on another bulkhead. Three more to go to reach the control room. Max doubted they would make it.

“No, I had you arrested because ... The real reason I’m here, George. There are rumours of Karin activity in this region. The Patrol sent me to check it out. They should have sent a ship. We could use a weapons-grade laser right now.”

“What would the Karin want with Gabriel Two?”

“What do the Karin want at all? Twelve years of war and we’ve never even seen an intact body—just a few fragments. No idea of where or their home planet is or what it’s like except wet. We do know they sometimes recruit human agents and when I saw the fixes you’d worked into the security system ...”

“You thought I was working for the Karin?”

“I didn’t know what to think.”

“I may be a thief but I’m no traitor. My bosses are human.” Or were they? He had never seen Marco out of suit. A ship from the central worlds would need to get by a dozen gate checkpoints; one coming from outside only had to slip by the thinly stretched Patrol. But what did the Karin need chrondites for?

Planets didn’t engage in bloody but largely pointless war for costume jewelry. But ... Marco had referred to the minerals potency. George turned his communit back on.

“Marco?”

There was a buzz, then Marco’s voice, distant and ragged. “George, the situation is unstable. You have to come onto the field.”

“What do the Karin want chrondites for?”

“You said ...” Selene started. George caught her eyes and held up his hand. She shut up.

“I don’t know what ...”

“The games up, Marco.”

The hum of the carrier wave was the only thing that told him they were still connected. “It is ... a state secret,” said Marco. His accent had grown more pronounced, the way foreign speakers did when they were tired.

“Then let me tell you,” said George. The Karin came from a wet world, maybe a water world—rare but not unknown. Chrondites were critical catalysers for drugs used in aquaculture. “You need them to combat disease in your food supply. Chrondites are medicine.”

The silence was longer this time. Maybe Marco was consulting his superiors. Maybe he was too weak to reply.

“Yes,” he said at last. “There is a plague. It started on our farms but then leapt to Karin hosts. The chrondites, as you call them, keep it in check. It was for chrondites that we first entered human space. Much to our regret.”

“The losses were horrendous on both sides. Why didn’t you tell us? We could have reached an agreement.”

“It is not in our nature to negotiate with those we view as ...” Marco paused again as if searching for the least offensive word. “Enemies” was the best he could come up with.

“Enemies can become friends,” said George. There was another silence. “We could start today. I have friends trapped in this building. I can’t get them out, but I expect a Karin ship could. I have something you need and you have something I want. We could trade.”

“Trade?”

“The exchange of goods and services for mutual benefit.”

“The Karin understand trade. It is not in our nature to trade with ...” Marco paused. “But it is something we might do with ... newfound ... friends.”

George looked at Selene. She smiled and gave him the thumbs up. New friends were always good to have. 

Hayden Trenholm has published short stories in “Talebones,” “On Spec,” “Neo-Opsis,” and more. He won the Prix Aurora Prize in 2011 for Best Short Form. “Blood and Water,” an anthology of stories he edited, won the Aurora Award in 2013.