Permutation: Space Agent Jonathan Bartell, #4

By Patty Jansen

En route to a job in the asteroid belt, the transport ship that Jonathan and Gaby are travelling on is required to give assistance to a space station in trouble.

Astoria Station stopped responding to everything except automated messages. Jonathan and Gaby, familiar with disease and habitat collapse, offer to help.

But not even they are prepared for what they find, or the efforts by some to sweep it under the carpet.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Patty Jansen
• Release date: Aug 24, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393128441

Patty Jansen

Patty lives in Sydney, Australia, and writes both Science Fiction and Fantasy. She has published over 15 novels and has sold short stories to genre magazines such as Analog Science Fiction and Fact.Patty was trained as a agricultural scientist, and if you look behind her stories, you will find bits of science sprinkled throughout.Want to keep up-to-date with Patty's fiction? Join the mailing list here: http://eepurl.com/qqlAbPatty is on Twitter (@pattyjansen), Facebook, LinkedIn, goodreads, LibraryThing, google+ and blogs at: http://pattyjansen.com/

Book preview

Chapter One

Astoria Station, a small mining settlement in the Asteroid Belt.

Owner: Prosperity Mining, a specialist independent contractor, mining rare earths for the Lora manufacturing station, also owned by Prosperity Mining.

Consignment: Testing station for mining samples.

Population: 328.

If they were responding.

And Astoria Station hadn’t been responding to correspondence, official or unofficial, for a number of days.

Jonathan Bartell, in his cabin aboard the transport ship Renae Stellaris, which belonged to the same company, had watched the reports track through his news feeds for days.

First the questions Is anything going on? then the discussion What should we do? and then the speculation They probably have some power malfunction.

He had plotted the ship’s course.

Then he’d gone to put his case to the transport ship’s captain.

They were in the area, he said.

No, the station hadn’t issued an SOS, but someone should investigate.

They might be able to save lives.

They already knew there hadn’t been a major blowout, so the issue had to be something internal.

Problems like this could be traced back to issues with the atmosphere inside the station and the recycling plant. Jonathan was a specialist in recycling—something the company should know, because he and Gaby were en route to work on a joint venture between Prosperity Mining and the Space Corps.

The captain wasn’t happy, because it would mess up his schedule, he said, but space law dictated that when a vessel or station was in trouble, the nearby ships were obliged to render assistance.

The Renae Stellaris was the closest vessel, and even if there hadn’t been a call for help, there was clearly something wrong.

So this was how Jonathan and Gaby found themselves on board a small shuttle drifting past the grey walls of the non-responsive station, looking for a sign of life, or a sign of disaster.

The outer surface of the station was rough, pockmarked through the strikes of small rocks. Much-weathered paint on the hull proclaimed a hatch to be an Emergency Exit and another was an External Refuel Point.

I’m still getting a response, the pilot said. Her name was Kenzie McLaren, fresh out of flight academy. She was a wisp of a thing, strawberry blonde hair and millions of freckles on her face and arms, about half Jonathan’s age. He was sure military pilots would have to be older to be given responsibility over a ship like this.

The shuttle floated around to the docking area. The guide lights on the station’s surface flicked on.

The docking system is connecting, Kenzie continued.

That’s something at least, Gaby said.

It’s also automated, Jonathan said, his voice dry.

Gaby gave him a glance. Yes, but be glad we don’t have to do the space walk.

And still she tried to smooth things over.

She knew he wasn’t happy with the company’s apparent grip on procedures.

They’d had a discussion about this last night.

The agreement by the captain to cut speed and make for the station had been followed by a general display of incompetence by the staff. Jonathan argued none of the crew aboard the transport ship appeared to be capable of making their own decisions. They all blindly followed the company line.

It’s even worse than at the Quarantine Authority! he’d said. These people follow rule books. They have no idea what to do in a real emergency.

And now his and Gaby’s lives were in the hands of one such person, Kenzie, who looked no older than someone who had just left high school.

He could now see the docking area in the forward-facing screen.

The docking lights were on, a bright beacon in the darkness on the shadow side of the station.

The docking door was open.

So that still worked, too.

Jonathan and Gaby both watched the projection screen intently, on the lookout for any signs of damage.

If the station had been hit by a rock and the atmosphere had vented suddenly, many of the electronics would continue to function. The docking entrance was a vulnerable point where vents were most likely to occur. If that had happened, there would be evidence of blow-out damage.

But there was no such damage. The docking process started up without a hitch.

Kenzie matched the shuttle’s speed with the station’s rotation. The world turned around, and the outside view was reduced to that part of the hull that the ship had fixed onto, with a row of lights and bold black and white arrows.

We’re scheduled to complete docking, Kenzie said. The airlock is opening. Everything seems to function as normal.

Are there any other ships in dock? Jonathan asked.

There is one shuttle. It belongs to the station.

And because this was a research station and not a mining station, traffic off the station was not plentiful anyway.

In fact, by all accounts, people at the company’s headquarters had only become aware of the station’s silence when local mining vessels reported it. All samples were delivered to the station by drones and that process also still worked. It was only when results failed to appear that the company had attempted to raise a non-automated response.

And had not received one.

Did either of you see anything unusual on the flyby? Kenzie asked.

Nothing, Gaby said. All the lights are still on. It’s hard to believe there is anything wrong. The hull is intact, the docking system works, the lights are on. Nothing appears wrong.

I'm going in, Kenzie said.

Jonathan gave her the okay. He and Gaby had already put on their protective suits when they boarded the shuttle.

He checked his helmet and tank. He checked his breathing apparatus. He checked Gaby’s suit and tank and her breathing apparatus, while she cross-checked his.

With a click, the ship connected with the docking tube. As soon as the connection was made, Kenzie cut the engine and Jonathan and Gaby were pulled sideways, because the craft now came under the influence of the station’s rotation.

That’s done, Kenzie said. We’re ready for your sortie.

Anything to report about the docking? Jonathan asked.

The umbilicals connect normally. The station’s vitals read as normal. Air pressure is normal. The program asked for sharing of air supply systems between the station and the ship. I’ve refused.

They had agreed on this safety procedure on Jonathan’s insistence. If there was anything infectious at the station, they didn’t want to bring it back to the ship.

No human contact? Jonathan asked.

None at all.

What’s the habitat like?

Kenzie flicked through a few screens. It seems relatively normal. CO2 is slightly elevated.

Gaby glanced at Jonathan. That could mean all sorts of things, but it was unlikely to be anything good.

We’re suiting up fully, Jonathan said. It would be hot and cumbersome inside the corridors made to fit people in normal clothing, but better be safe than sorry.

He helped Gaby into her harness that would hold the tanks and lifted the helmet