Viking (18 page)

“So why three instead of four?”

Satler shrugged. “Hard to say. Maybe one of the vikings really did die.”

“Can’t we just read those new signals from the cache and see if one’s coming from
Rafa?”

Satler shook his head grimly. “These signals were logged when they first showed up,
but they’re not in the cache. It looks like they’re being filtered out planetside.”

Julie’s face fell. “Oh. Well, how much do the logs say about them? Can you tell for
sure that they’re viking broadcasts?”

“Maybe. You understand about codecs?”

“I know the viking streams are compressed and encrypted. I suppose the codecs you
use are a bit different from the stuff I see on documents in my translation work.”

“Same general idea. Except that viking codecs vary by implant hardware as well as
data content.”

“So can you ID a stream by its codec?”

“Sometimes. In this case we don’t have a lot to go on, though. There are some clues
about the codec that was negotiated to process the streams before they were blocked.
I’m trying to trace it right now. Plus get a line on the other stuff in the cache.”

“What else is there?”

“Like I said, it’s full. Hundreds of broadcasts, all over the spectrum.”

Julie leaned back. “I don’t get it. Who else could be broadcasting?”

“Good question. I’m beginning to wonder if there’s not another viking mission
already on the planet. It would explain some of the strange things MEEGO did.”

“It’d have to be a massive operation if there are hundreds of vikings.”

Satler nodded. “You’ve got a point. And the traffic patterns are wrong, anyway. Most
of the signals in the cache come and go, almost like a conversation. There’s only one
other steady-state stream.”

“Another viking broadcast? That would give you four.”

“No. This one doesn’t match the timing at all. It’s been there since the satellite
first started receiving planetside transmissions.”

“A phantom viking? Any chance there was a secret crewmember that MEEGO didn’t want
anyone to know about?”

Satler pursed his lips. “I seriously doubt it. The module is crammed full—people
tripping all over each other. You could never hope to avoid being seen. Besides, how
would someone like that get food or survive touchdown? And what would be the
point?”

“I don’t know. Obviously MEEGO’s up to something.”

“No question. Everything about the way they handled this thing was weird.”

“So what’s the secret?” Julie asked. “I can’t think of any skullduggery that would
explain ditching part of the crew. They pay through the nose for every viking they
hire. You’d think they’d treat them like valuable assets.”

“More like a drain on the pocketbook. In another couple weeks the legal requirements
for filing permanent claim on the planet will be met, and then all incentive to
safeguard the crew will disappear. MEEGO will be paying enormous chunks to whoever’s
still alive, so it’s in their interests to make that group as small as possible.”

“They deliberately kill off the vikings?” Julie gazed at Satler with dismay and
anger showing clearly in her clear blue eyes. She felt a sudden uneasiness at the big
man’s casual acceptance of brutality and murder.

Satler gestured dismissively. “It’s not as bad as it sounds. Of course there’s legal
oversight and regulation, designed to prevent exactly that sort of behavior. The
science teams on Earth report to the government independent of company management. Sort
of a checks and balances system. Anyway, there are plenty of real dangers on a mission
without a company fabricating its own. My point was just that the timing is wrong for
MEEGO to be interested in getting rid of anybody. If they’d done it after their claim
was approved it would make more sense.”

Julie shifted uncomfortably and returned to the question of a phantom broadcaster.
“How about a stowaway? Maybe a spy, keeping tabs on what MEEGO’s doing...”

“Same problem. You just couldn’t smuggle another person past the crew.” Suddenly an
expression of astonishment and enlightenment flooded across Satler’s heavy features.
“Wait a minute. Maybe there
is
a scenario that fits all the pieces together.” He
leaned forward and drummed his fingers on the table, the muscles in his forearm
rippling with the rhythm. “Suppose the broadcast isn’t from another person at all.
Suppose it’s from one of the vikings.”

“But everyone’s accounted for.”

“Exactly.” He paused to let the idea sink in. “What if one viking is sending out two
broadcasts?”

“What for?”

“It occurs to me that if MEEGO really
is
hiding something, they’d be very
hostile to a spy.”

Now Julie was following his logic. “Somebody has a second set of implants.”

“Or one set broadcasting at two frequencies,” Satler said.

“And MEEGO found out about it.”

“And stalled around long enough to find the leak. Then they arranged a stampede that
took him out.”

Julie closed her eyes at the sting of the words. She hoped the sudden onset of tears
wasn’t visible.

The silence stretched out wretchedly.

Finally she shook her red hair, wiped her eyes with a fingertip, and managed a
feeble non-frown.

Satler cleared his throat. “Sorry. Guess I’m not very long on tact.”

Julie smiled sadly. “It’s okay. I’m grateful for your information, even if it’s not
pleasant.”

“I don’t see any reason why the spy has to be Rafa. They were probably gunning for
someone else. If those three signals are from vikings, then there are good odds he
lived through the stampede.”

“Maybe Rafa
is
the spy.” When Satler looked puzzled, Julie continued slowly.
“The FBI claimed he was leading a double life. That always seemed a bit preposterous to
me, but it might explain some things.”

“Anyway, if we’ve got this figured right, they didn’t get the spy. The one cached
stream that looks like a viking is still there.”

Julie thought about that. “You were linked up at the time. Do you think he made it
to the rock?”

“I do.”

“And that’s why you called me?”

A meditative look came onto Satler’s face. He looked up at the ceiling.

“To tell you the truth, I probably would have called you even if I thought he hadn’t
made it.” He paused as if weighing his words.

Julie waited, but when Satler continued he seemed to be changing the topic.

“What’s Rafa like, Mrs. Orosco?”

Julie flinched. How could she answer, even to herself? A year ago the praise and
contentment would have rolled glibly off her tongue. But since the arrest, she’d used
anger to justify divorce and achieve an emotional distance. All along she’d known
better—even before the moment of soul-searching at the mirror. Now she was back where
she started, but full of perplexing contradictions.

How could she explain it all to a complete stranger in a one-sentence pronouncement?
Again Julie’s eyes filled with tears. Her throat constricted, and she could only shake
her head in mute misery.

When Satler spoke, his voice was surprisingly gentle.

“I thought so.”

Julie looked at him in confusion. “What do you mean?” she managed.

“Mrs. Orosco, I’ve been doing this sort of thing for years now, and I’ve spent
man-months inside the mind and body of lots of vikings. Most of them are cruel and
bitter and interested in only themselves. It’s never been tough to move on when one of
them drops off the mission roster.”

He paused.

“Rafa was different?” Julie ventured.

Satler nodded almost imperceptibly. “Easier to control. Less sullen. Better
educated.”

“He has a PhD, you know. Exercise physiology. He finished a year ago.”

Satler smiled wistfully. “You’re proud of that, aren’t you?”

After a moment, Julie nodded.

Satler crossed his bulky forearms. “Education is a good thing. Usually, anyway. And
I’m sure it was your accomplishment as well as his. But it’s not really the culture or
the personality that made me call you. It’s more than that.”

He began doodling aimlessly with his finger as he talked.

“Occasionally the earthside teams tune in after hours, mostly out of curiosity. It’s
almost like watching a soap opera, the way they go at each other. You wouldn’t believe
the number of brawls that go on over drugs and women and the pecking order.”

Julie looked appalled, and Satler shrugged. “Must sound pretty awful. Truth is, we
sometimes have betting pools over who’ll be the last man standing. Guess we’re as bad
as the Romans with their gladiators.”

“Doesn’t it mean anything to you? These are human beings, people you talk to and
work with all day long. And you’re a silent audience while they murder each other?”

Satler flushed. “You don’t understand. There’s almost no law on those missions. What
could we do—threaten to arrest them and haul them back to Earth? They’re quarantined
for the duration.”

“You could use the implants to keep them under control.”

“We do that, at least in the worst cases. When we’re aware of the problems. But we
don’t have a free hand to babysit every situation. The vikings themselves block us
out.”

“What do you mean?”

“Regulation requires us to give the vikings some unmonitored time every day. It’s
primarily a privacy thing. That’s why we have an on-site commander of the crew. After
the shift ends we’re only allowed to tune in if they request it.”

“And they don’t?”

“Not very often. It’s part bravado, part stupidity, and part fear of getting caught.
Half of them are sleeping around—sometimes at knife point—or doing drugs that they
smuggled on board, or out burning local plants in search of a new buzz. All of which
violates the terms of their contracts, even if the legal consequences are pretty
tenuous. And that creates a nasty sort of peer pressure. Nobody wants to be the one to
cancel free time for the whole group. It would make dangerous enemies in a hurry.”

“So you’re careful to leave them alone, except when it’s for your own amusement?”
Now there was scorn in Julie’s voice.

Satler looked ashamed. It was a long time before he responded. “Technically the law
permits random checkups, if they’re sparse and unintrusive. But I admit we don’t use
the off-shift broadcasts that way.”

Julie mulled over the bleak landscape Satler was painting. She couldn’t frame Rafa
into such brutality without feeling sick.

Satler cleared his throat and continued. “What I started to tell you about was the
first night of the mission. Everyone was dead tired, and Heward got on his high horse
about something.”

“Heward?”

“The commanding officer on the crew. He pistol-whipped Rafa and just about shot
another guy who was being uncooperative.”

“So that’s how Rafa’s face got injured.”

“I didn’t do anything because Rafa just stood and took it. Let himself get beat on.
It was almost spooky.”

“Spooky?”

“Does your husband have any martial arts training? Judo? Tae Kwon Do? That sort of
thing?”

“No. He’s in good shape, but I think he’d get flattened in a fight.”

Satler looked dubious. “I got as far as a brown belt in karate, once upon a time.
And let me tell you, he’s no novice.”

Julie’s brow wrinkled. “What are you trying to tell me?”

“For a minute I thought there would be a battle. I think Rafa did, too. The way he
stood, the position of his hands and arms, the balance of his weight for fast
response—he learned that at a dojo somewhere. I think he knew exactly what he was
doing. And I suspect he could have taken out Mr. Heward without much trouble.”

The confusion must have shown on her face, because Satler tapped his finger on the
table for emphasis. “Heward’s a very dangerous man, Julie. He’s been on several of
these missions, and I’ve never seen anybody stand up to him and live to tell about it.
But I’d lay my money on Rafa in an instant, if push came to shove.”

“Aren’t you reading a lot into this?”

“I’m telling you, I was
him
when it happened. He wasn’t even nervous.”

“Then why did he let himself get hurt?”

“When Heward pulled the gun he tensed for an instant, and I thought the fight was
on. Then Rafa just sort of deliberately let go and relaxed, and I was wishing I’d set
the pain threshold a lot higher. I’m not sure why he did it.”

“So you called me because he didn’t defend himself?”

“Well, indirectly. It bothered me. I couldn’t understand why he’d do that. So I
stayed tuned in a while longer. Everybody went to bed except Rafa.”

“Then what?”

“Then he clomped off down the hallway and spent three hours reorganizing the cargo
hold.” Satler’s voice was heavily tinged with disbelief.

“What for?”

“Heward had been bullying another viking on the crew. Fazio—big, mean guy with a rap
sheet as long as your arm and a chip on his shoulder.”

“I remember seeing him. He had some bandages on his throat.”

“That’s Fazio. I guess Heward hurt him pretty bad right after they touched down.
Fazio needed surgery. He was sleeping off the anesthetic the whole first shift. So
Heward said he could make up for missing the rotation by working all night in the cargo
hold.”

“Was he up to that? I didn’t tune in until a day later, and he still looked
awful.”

“Of course he wasn’t up to it. But Heward’s got a sadistic streak a mile wide. He
threatened to kill Fazio if the job wasn’t done.”

“Rafa helped?”

“Fazio was either too proud or too sick to give in. He went back to bed, and I think
we’d have had a dead viking on our hands next morning. So while nobody was looking,
your husband took off and did the job himself.”

A lone tear coursed silently down Julie’s cheek.

“Mrs. Orosco, I don’t know if I can explain the effect that night had on me. I was
only intending to watch for a minute, to see what he was up to. I felt totally beat. It
had been a long, long day. But after Rafa went to work, I was embarrassed to tune out.
He wasn’t going to quit, and he had it way worse than I did. The blood was dripping off
his nose. His back was killing him. I had a lot of the neurosensory feeds filtered, but
even so, those three hours were torture. My arms and legs felt like lead, every muscle
was dead, and the pain on my face was terrible.