The object filling the window was a ship. At least Hedges thought it was a ship. He could find no symmetry, no clear order of design.
The thing seemed geologic, like the rocky spine of a mountain range.
His confusion grew when another tender passed them by, adding some scale to the view. Hedges realized they were still several klicks away from the behemoth.
“How is this possible?” He could not hide his dismay.
“When finished, it will be the largest vessel in history,” said Ngura. “Nearly two kilometers from stem to stern.”
They drew closer, and Hedges began to spot familiar objects. Suited workers hovered around a gun turret, sliding massive barrels into position. Twinkling blue specks – an army of weldbots – fastened armor plating to the hull. A comm dish spun slowly on its mount.
“What are all those brackets?” Hedges asked, pointing.
“Fighter docks,” replied Sterling. “Four squadrons of fighters will stay on the hull for rapid launch. They’ll come inside only for repairs and maintenance.”
“Mr. Sterling is handpicking the pilots,” added Ngura. “He’ll be promoted to flight leader.”
“And I suppose you’ll command this monstrosity.”
The admiral bowed his head. “We call it the Tigershark.”
Hedges snorted. “Why?”
“The tiger was the most aggressive of shark species,” Sterling explained. “Even more fierce than the legendary great white.”
Now Hedges laughed. “Don’t you guys study your own history? Battleships became big floating targets for airplanes. Then aircraft carriers fell prey to smart missiles. You don’t think someone will figure a way to attack this thing?”
“Sea combat is quite different from combat in space,” replied Ngura. “Tigershark will defend itself.”
Hedges went to his seat and brooded. “The Conservancy saw this day coming. They knew going to Mars would someday lead to war in space.”
“Cons oppose any change,” sneered Sterling.
Ngura shot the young officer a stern look, then took his seat and leaned forward. His eyes were sincere. Deep wrinkles hinted at his many years of service. “This ship will protect the freighters that resupply Mars. Nothing more.”
Hedges met his gaze, then glanced past his shoulder to Tigershark, which still scrolled across the window.
“I’m sure you believe that, Admiral. But to me this ship is the beginning of a crisis, not the end. Humankind is bringing its bad habits into space.”
Later, on the way home, Hedges settled deep into thought. He became so distracted he couldn’t remember the shuttle’s landing, or his car ride home. For an hour he gazed out to sea, his elbows propped on the deck railing. Finally, he went inside and retrieved a canvas satchel.
Max followed him down to the beach and together they walked westward, toward the setting sun. Hedges scanned the dunes and cloudless sky for prying eyes, either human or drone. Microphones posed no threat, thanks to the crashing waves and cawing seagulls.
He reached into the satchel and pulled out a narrow plastic brick, then punched in a long sequence of numbers from memory. The satellite phone reached deep into space, and after a series of clicks and hisses, he heard a distant ring.
“Yes?” a static-etched voice answered.
“I saw it today,” Hedges said simply.
“And?”
“Worse than expected.”
“I’m sure we can handle it,” the voice replied.
“Don’t be so confident,” warned Hedges. “Whatever your timetable is, I’d suggest speeding it up.”
“Perhaps you exaggerate. What exactly did you see?”
“Exactly? I saw an armored giant bristling with fighter docks, missile tubes, and gun turrets. Is that exact enough for you?”
Static silence followed. Hedges knew he’d made his point.
“I’m doing everything I can,” the voice said, “with the limited resources at hand.”
“So, you want more help.”
“It would serve both our interests.”
“Okay, I’ll talk to my people,” Hedges promised. “In the meantime, make a list of your specific needs. I’ll call tomorrow.”
“Fine.”
The call ended. Hedges stuffed the phone back in its satchel. He and Max walked home as the setting sun yielded to a faint moon and purple sky. Rolling waves erased their prints.
The next morning, he met with the board of trustees, an eclectic group of men and women who rarely agreed on anything.
An astute journalist once described the Conservancy as “a quivering mass of conflicting impulses.” The labor unions fought with the environmental groups. Religious leaders fought with the humanists. The anarchists fought with everyone.
More than once, Hedges felt the fragile alliance would disintegrate, leaving him unemployed. But it never happened. They always managed to stick together, united by their fear of the League of Corporations.
Today, nearly forty trustees attended the emergency meeting. They listened to Hedges describe the mighty Tigershark and its sage commander, Admiral Ngura. They heard about the secret phone call to deep space, which ended with a request for more illegal help. When Hedges finished, the trustees put it to a vote, which was unanimous. On this matter, at least, they could agree.
The Conservancy would partner with the marauders.
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