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He and his teammates climbed onto the upper girders. In silence, the team rigged a web of support netsso they could rest in relative comfort. Below them lay a hundred thousand liters of black water, andsurrounding them, two centimeters of stainless steel. Sam rigged the fill sensor so the reservoir’scomputer wouldn’t let any more water flow into the storage tank. The lights in their helmets cast apattern of crossing and crisscrossing reflection lines.
A perfect hiding spot—all according to plan, John thought, and allowed himself a small grin of triumph.The tech specs that ONI had procured on theLaden showed a number of hydroponic pods mountedaround the ship’s carousel system—the massive water tanks used gravity feed to irrigate the ship’s space-grown crops.
Perfect.
They had easily slipped past the lone guard in theLaden ’s main cargo bay and into the nearly desertedcenter section. The water tank would mask their thermal signatures, and block any motion sensors.
The only risky element entered the picture if the center section stopped spinning . . . things could getvery messy inside the tank, very fast. But John doubted that would happen.
Kelly set up a tiny microwave relay outside the top hatch. She propped her data pad on her stomach andlinked to the ship’s network. “I’m in,” she reported. “There’s no AI or serious encryption . . . accessingtheir system now.” She tapped the pad a few more times and activated the intrusion software—the bestthat ONI could provide. A moment later the pad pulsed to indicate success.
“They’ve got a nav trajectory to the asteroid belt. ETA is ten hours.”
“Good work,” John said. “Team: we’ll sleep in shifts.” Sam, Fred, and Linda snapped off theirflashlights.
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The tank reverberated as theLaden ’s engines flared to life. The water tilted as they accelerated awayfrom the orbital docking station.
John remembered Eridanus 2—vaguely recalled that it once was home. He wondered if his old school,his family, were still there—
He squelched his curiosity. Speculation made for a fine mental exercise, but the mission came first. Hehad to stay alert—or failing that, grab some sleep so he would be alert when he needed to be. ChiefMendez must have told them a thousand times: “Rest can be as deadly a weapon as a pistol or grenade.”
“I’ve got something,” Kelly whispered, and handed him her data pad.
It displayed the cargo manifest for theLaden . John scrolled down the list: water, flour, milk, frozenorange juice, welding rods, superconducting magnets for a fusion reactor . . . no mention of weapons.
“I give up,” he said. “What am I looking for?”
“I’ll give you a hint,” Kelly replied. “The Chief smokes them.”
John flicked back through the list. There: Sweet William cigars. Next to them on the manifest was acrate of champagne, a Beta Centauri vintage. There were fast-chilled New York steaks, and Swisschocolates. These items were stored in a secure locker. They had the same routing codes.