The Ice Moon Explorer (5 page)

“No. He seemed uncomfortable.”

“No worries, we’ll just assess him when he
comes in.”

Loud male voices suddenly came through the
door.

“You said it was one new patient, right?”

Abigail frowned. “Yes. There was only one
other man.”

“Well there’s more now. You better go check.
This better not be another sterilization fight.”

Abigail stepped back out, closing the
door.

And screamed.

Elena threw open the door. There were six
masked men standing in the waiting room. They carried 3d-printed
rifles and cast iron machetes. Two aimed at her, she quickly raised
her hands. The others studied the terrified patients. Children
howled.

“Oi!” a tall man with thinning hair stepped
out of the second examination room. Beside him was a short
Indonesian woman wearing scrubs. “This is a free clinic,” he said
in English. “We don’t have any money, and we just here to help
these people. We’ll help you too, if you need medical care. We
won’t report you to the government.” The woman translated into
Bahasa.

They shot them both.

“Everyone, get on the ground!” One gunman
yelled above the screaming. “Get on the ground or we will kill
you!”

Everyone scrambled for the cut cement floor.
Abigail got down, the smell of antiseptic welled from the floor.
She looked about – the new patient wasn’t there. Then the door to
the pharmacy opened, and he walked out. In his arms was a white box
the size of a large microwave. He spoke to the gunmen.

“What are they saying?” hissed Elena.

“I don’t know. They’re talking in Banjar
now.”

“Is that it?” asked one of the masks.

“Yes, it’s the pharma maker,” Sukarno handed
it carefully to another gunman. “With this we can produce every
drug that GlaxoSmithKline makes.”

“So what do we do?” asked another mask. “You
have spoken and acted plainly, without your mask, brother.”

He bent down over Abigail and took the tablet
from her hands.

“They have kept records on the patients. With
this,” he brandished the tablet and looked about the room. “If
anyone says anything to the government,” he said loudly in Bahasa,
“We will come to your home.” He motioned to the old Malay. “He
looks Chinese. Take him outside, ask him some questions. If he is
Chinese, then kill him.”

“What about the two women?” asked the mask.
“Can we teach these Christian bitches a lesson?”

“Teach them a lesson. Then bring them
outside, and we can behead them.”

Evan Stockwell

FBI, Directorate of Intelligence, Washington
DC

“Agent Stockwell?” The woman stood in the
open doorway, hand on the handle. Light poured into the dark office
from outside.

The man looked up, his face lit by his
screen. Insurgent recruitment in oil-dry Arab kingdoms would have
to wait. “That’s me.”

“Agent Pirello, Strategic Information and
Operations. Any reason all your comms are off?”

“I can’t concentrate with the disturbances.
Besides, anyone who wants me is just outside.”

“Well you’re wanted upstairs. Grab your
coat.”

He frowned. “I need my coat for that?”

“You need your coat, because after that
you’ll be getting on a plane. Do you have your passport here?
You’re going to Indonesia.”

Thirty agents sat in rows in the briefing
room. Wall-mounted screens showed bimbo news anchors or infra-red
drone feeds. Standing before them were rolled up sleeves and a
loose tie. He gestured at a map of Indonesia on display behind
him.

“At about twenty hundred hours local time,
militants stormed a clinic in the Kalimantan uplands. The clinic
was illegal, run by Australian evangelical Christians. The
militants shot two of the staff, and then raped and beheaded two
others.”

Behind him, the map was replaced by grim
video captures. Masked men fired guns into the air, standing over
bound corpses. It cut to a bearded man sitting before a black flag.
Rifle in hand, he spoke slowly and deliberately.

Stockwell and Pirello entered and sat quietly
at the back.

“Who’s leading the meeting?” he
whispered.

“He’s Special Agent-In-Charge, Likavec,” she
replied. “Your new boss.”

“Who speaks Bahasa here?” Likavec looked
round the room.

Several hands went up.

“Special Agent Cho,” he pointed, “You want to
tell us what he’s saying?”

“He’s warning away all infidels. He’s
mentioning the Indonesian government, calling them traitor. He’s
mentioning the Chinese; foreign and local NGOs; Australia; the
United States – “ he stopped suddenly, and frowned.

Likavec grinned.

“Uhuh. What else is he saying?”

“He’s not making sense.”

“Isn’t he?”

“Pemerintahan mesin saleh,” called out
Stockwell. “Which can be translated as ‘the age of spiritual
machines.’ He’s referencing Kurzweil, one of the first
Transhumanists. He’s calling on Moslems of all sects to rise up
against those machines. Now he’s moving on to condemning
emigration. He doesn’t mean from Indonesia, though. He means from
Earth.”

“Everyone,” Likavec held out his arm, “This
is Intelligence Analyst, Evan Stockwell. You want to tell us what
your area is, Mr. Stockwell?”

“Anti-technology militancy in Flooded and
Still Third World nations. I can spot the tells in this video Sir,
the group is Jemaat Ansar, the ‘Gathering of the Helpers.’”

“Are you sure? They don’t identify themselves
in the video. It was posted from a hijacked account.”

“Then I’m even more positive. Jemaat Ansar
doesn’t go after NGO-run, free clinics. Knowing it was in their
area must have been too much for some of them. These members must
have acted on their own accord and then not been able to resist
bragging, either. Jemaat goes after technology targets. They’re
more interested in beheading space construction moghuls, like Daryl
Spectorov.”

“Not the kind of group you hear about every
day, folks. Mr. Stockwell, welcome to the FBI’s Counterterrorism
Fly Team. These people are trained and ready to fly anywhere on
Earth, or Earth orbit, within hours of a terror attack. You’ve been
selected for your special knowledge to join us on this
deployment.”

“It’s an honor, Sir. Thank you for selecting
me.”

“No, I didn’t know of your work,” he shook
his head. “Your recommendation came from a Self-Transcending
System.”

“An AI?” Stockwell raised an eyebrow.

“It’s called the Sun Tzu.”

“I’m sorry, I’ve never heard of it.”

“That’s because it’s not one of ours. The
Chinese have asked for our help. But really, I think they’re asking
for your help.”

Everyone turned to look at the new kid.

“They want me? Why?”

“The Sun Tzu is a military STS. Its functions
are intelligence gathering and strategy. That’s likely to be a lot
of anti-terror work, from Xinjiang, to Angola, to Brazil.”

“But there hasn’t been any anti-tech
militancy in Indonesia. Oh.”

“Exactly. I’m going to guess the Chinese are
surprised as we are, to hear some asshole referencing Ray Kurzweil
in an execution video. Speaking personally, this is most fringe
terrorist activity I’ve ever come across in my time at the
Bureau.”

“Sir,” Pirello spoke up, “Do we know if the
Ministry of Public Security is taking lead on this?”

“That’s still unclear, Agent. But, I expect
that to be the case. MSS isn’t exactly forthcoming with data, but
they’ve got better over the years.”

“Sir, why would anti-AI militants conduct
attacks in rural Indonesia?” asked another agent. “Why not
corporate or higher education targets in China, Korea, or
Singapore?”

“It’s not just AI,” said Stockwell, “He also
referenced emigration. Central Kalimantan is where Tiantang De
Jieti is.”

“Get me an encrypted line to the Ministry of
Public Security,” Likavec said to an assistant. “We need to tell
Beijing someone is targeting their Space Elevator.”

Four Hours Later, 50,000 feet

“This seat taken?”

Stockwell looked up from his tablet. Pirello
settled into the seat across from him, drink in hand. He raised an
eyebrow.

“Just soda,” she rattled the ice cubes in it.
“That was quite a performance back there.”

“I don’t know about that. I spent most of my
career studying ‘offbeat’ threats like Jemaat Ansar. Never imagined
I’d end up on the Fly Team.”

“Excited?”

“I think terrified is a better word.”

She laughed. “You’ll do fine.”

“You seem pretty comfortable. I take it this
isn’t your first time?”

“Third. Egypt in ’44. Nigeria in ’48. Counter
terrorism, I get moved around as an advisor from time to time, too.
Few months here, few months there. It all adds up.”

“The husband must hate that.”

“Hated, he certainly did,” she held up her
ring. “I just wear this now to stop younger men from hitting on me
in the bars.”

“I thought getting hit on by younger men was
the whole point.”

“That’s ‘cause you haven’t dated one. It’s
like babysitting. What about you, Stockwell?”

“Call me Evan. A dentist in Alexandria, but I
don’t think I’m allowed to say we’re officially dating. Nice
parents, though. I think they see me as a safe bet.”

“Are you?”

“Not once I got on this plane, no.”

“Well, dating a girl because of her parents
may not be the best bet, either.”

“You got me there. This is my first time in
the field, that isn’t research.”

“When was the last time you fired your
gun?”

“The academy.”

“Well hopefully it’ll stay that way.”

“I was hoping to at least line up some
bottles on a wall.”

“So you can tell your dentist-lady that you
did some shooting?”

“It’s expected.”

“Would she approve?”

“Hell no. What about you? I bet you’ve shot
hundreds of people.”

She laughed. “I don’t know about hundreds.
But when you’re instructing foreign law enforcement, you can’t lead
from the rear. If you don’t impress them, they won’t take you
seriously. Especially if you’re a woman.”

“Do you find that leads you to take bigger
risks?”

“No. But you do worry about the example you
set. You end up representing more than just the United States, you
know what I mean?” She looked over at his tablet. “What are you
reading?”

“Country report for Indonesia. Chinese
influence. Agreements with Australia. The movers and shakers in the
Junta.”

“Anything that stand outs?”

“Only that they’re doing well. Rich country,
booming population, and successive governments out to exploit them.
Fast forward a few decades and you have a typical, Still Third
World, country. A large, poor, illiterate, and bitter population.
Now apply the effects of climate change.”

“You think they should be a bigger mess?”

“And they would have been. The obvious choice
as things got worse, would have been to de-secularize. Indonesia
has over three hundred ethnic groups. However, they’re almost
entirely Moslem. De-secularization is the choice Still Third
Worlds, typically make.”

“And Indonesia didn’t?”

“They tried. Then the military
intervened.”

“I hear that’s a tradition of theirs.
Wouldn’t that only encourage extremism?”

“It does. But no one wants a failed state of
three hundred million, next door. Australia and Singapore give the
Junta lots of tech and military aid. China though, is by far their
biggest sponsor.”

“Because of the space elevator.”

“Partly. The PLA currently has over twenty
thousand ‘advisors’ in Central Kalimantan province. That’s expected
to go up. There’s a growing civilian presence as well. Contractors,
construction workers, middle men, prison laborers. Makes sense that
the Ministry of Public Security would have people on the
ground.”

“No,” she shook her head, “It won’t be them.
On the way over, I overheard Likavec on the phone with our Chinese
friends.”

Stockwell frowned. “If it’s not MSS, then who
is it?”

“People’s Liberation Army Military
Intelligence. And it doesn’t sound like they want us.”

Daryl Spektorov

2011 AD, Brookline, Massachusetts

“Daryl, what are you doing climbing all over
the couch?”

The boy, toy shuttle in both hands, looked at
his father in the doorway.

“I’m making my last flight to the ISS!”

“Really? Your last?” Mr. Spektorov pulled off
his tie. “Maybe you could get off your Mom’s cushions before she
sends me on my last flight, too.”

Daryl jumped down, and ran to his father.

“It’s all cause of stinky Congress,” he
confided. “They’re cancelling the space shuttles because they don’t
want me to go to Mars.”

“Maybe Congress is on to something, thought
about that?” he scratched his son’s head. “There are a lot of
problems on Earth. Many of them will get a lot worse, once you’ve
grown up. Maybe you want to think about solving those?”

“Nuh Uh!” he shook his head vigorously. “When
I’m big, I’m going to space! I’m going to go to the stars! Just
like in Avatar!”

“Did you do your homework, Mister
Astronaut?”

“Yes.”

“Did you do your extra homework?”

He looked down and fidgeted. “Yeees?”

“Come on. Let’s go to do it.”

“But I don’t wanna!” his shoulder’s drooped
and he pouted. “It’s so boring. Why can’t we just play with my
spaceships?”

“Daryl, we can play with your spaceships, all
you like. But first, you need to work on the lemonade stand. The
world is going to be a meaner place when you grow up. The most
important thing you can learn is how to make money, and keep
it.”

“Mom says you’re too serious about
money.”

“Mom’s family’s rich. She’s used to money.
You, you’re going to learn the same way I did. Now come on. Put
down your space shuttle, and let’s work on your lemonade
business.”