The Salvagers (2 page)

             
I wasn't new to searching for that wreck. In my younger days I'd spent eight years looking for it on and off. She was supposed to be among the asteroids between Earth and Mars, in a sort of parking orbit where Walton's Rock used to be. The asteroid didn't have the gravity to hold the ship indefinitely, so the two separated over time, and 974-Bernhard was now halfway around the sun from where the
Cape Hatteras
was projected to be.

             
In a search for it I had covered tens of thousands of square miles, sweeping back and forth until the money ran out and the investors lost heart. I wasn't the only one. No fewer than 100 failed attempts litter treasure-hunting history. They all failed because the ship just wasn't where it was supposed to be, so more recent expeditions were forced to widen their search area to an impossibly large swath of space that would have taken centuries to cover. It had become a long shot.

             
I thought it probably never would be found. I had chalked up the whole thing to the uncertainty of the solar system. Jupiter can deflect an asteroid in a close encounter, and then that asteroid's gravity can alter the course of anything it passes. Even if it's just a tiny deviation, it is still cumulative, and after 200 years something can be a million miles away from where calculations indicate it should be. It doesn't take long to become a needle in a haystack the size of the Sun. But even that consideration didn't explain where we found the
Cape Hatteras
.

             
We’re not talking about relatively small distances such as a million miles. It was
200
million miles away from where it should have been. The
Cape Hatteras
was completely outside the asteroid belt in lockstep with a large trojan asteroid that had settled near Jupiter in a resonant solar orbit. It's really not an asteroid, but rather a burned-out comet full of ice and carbon. In its glory days it would have traveled in and out of proximity to the Sun, the melting ice periodically releasing a gaseous comet's tail. 974-Bernhard had taken too many trips and no longer had enough horsepower to form much more than a fuzzy haze. All we could surmise was that it must have passed through the asteroid belt one last time and picked up the derelict before Jupiter's immense gravity finally captured them both and dragged them to a quiet retirement at a Lagrange point about 20 million miles from the planet.

             
We were in the area by accident on our way to Earth, after salvaging an old NASA probe from the late 21st century. The Smithsonian was paying us to bring it home, saying something about its being the first probe to carry a true fusion engine. NASA had wanted to study an impending Jovian comet impact close up, but were left with little time to test the new propulsion. In case the fusion engine failed, they equipped the probe with one of the most powerful chemical rockets ever built the ensure the mission's success. It was never needed, and that left us with several full tanks of unstable rocket fuel to contend with.

             
There was no way to vent it into space, and the Smithsonian wanted that rocket engine as much as the rest of the probe, so we detached it and stored it in the only safe place we had: strapped to the heavy plating that covered the stern of the
Amaranth Sun
. We'd have been in serious trouble if those had exploded, but no one ever said salvage work was without risk.

             
To be completely honest, I hated retrieval missions. They were mundane and boring. Treasure hunting is far more fun. But pleasure is one thing, and paying the bills is another. The simple fact is that, if you're willing to spend the time, the solar system is filled with trash and artifacts left over from centuries of human exploration that someone is always willing to pay for.

             
Unfortunately, I wasn't the only salvager in the solar system. If any of the others found out that I had located the
Cape Hatteras
, I'd have been dealing with ten ships pulling up next to me, all looking for a way in followed by a government vessel full of archeologists wanting to preserve it for posterity and finally a transport of lawyers to sort it all out—no doubt for a modest cut.

             
I wanted to avoid that scenario at all costs. Captain Camden D. Hunter and lawyers do not mix.

Chapter 2     Day 2

             
One of the first things I learned decades ago as a novice 24-year-old adventurer is that it's always easier to ask forgiveness than it is to ask permission. If you bog yourself down waiting for permits from Earth, all you do is hand your prize to someone else. Many an unwary salvager forgot that and spent more time and money in court fighting rival claims than the profits they gained from their haul—and that only happened if they
won
their case. To come out on top, you must go ahead without permission and have the job finished before anyone else finds out.

             
The risk you take with that approach isn't very high. They've still never thrown anyone in jail for salvaging in space. But things can easily bog down in a quagmire of legal action, despite the unions' agreement that the ancient system of maritime law would apply in space. Even so, that finders, keepers system hadn't stopped legal battles in the 18th century, and it still doesn't stop them in 25th. Everyone wants a piece of what you've got, so they'll creatively interpret every law on the books to get you in court. With that in mind, my highest priority was to keep my discovery secret.

             
It was a daunting task because in order to fund the project, I needed investors.
Quiet
ones. I'd never made enough off my salvages to fund my own expeditions and for something as big as the
Cape Hatteras
, I needed salaries for 30 specialized personnel, a large and fully equipped salvage ship and enough food, fuel, and supplies to last a year or more.

             
I wasn't worried. Investment money was everywhere on Earth, and if anyone could entice an investor I was the man. I have a good track record.
I
n my career I'd found eleven wrecks, and every one of them turned a tidy profit. But the
Cape Hatteras
was in a league of its own; Nothing I had done so far could compare. It was also the reason I had chosen this career.
I had wanted to be a treasure hunter since the age of eight, when I read a book titled
The Lost Ships of the Solar System
by Netea Krahs—a relative of the previous owner of the
Amaranth Sun
. The first chapter was dedicated to the
Cape Hatteras
.

             
In those days I used to daydream about the odd parallels between my life and the story of the
Cape Hatteras
. I was born 150 years to the day after the ship was declared lost in what was officially called Sononmaz Province in the UNAG, the bureaucrats’ name for what everyone else still called Arizona, Sonora, and New Mexico. The first officer's last name was Hunter, though I could never find out whether I was related to him. My mother was born not far from Cape Hatteras, where I'd been many times on family vacations. My young mind drew every kind of minor connection between myself and that ship.

             
I'm wiser now in my old age, but I was still disappointed that I'd never found the wreck. I think the real blow to the dream came when I found myself fantasizing about going home to Flagstaff and retiring. I thought that maybe I could work for another decade and then hand the reins to my son. I didn't see much time left for the
Cape Hatteras
in those remaining years. But then everything changed.

             
Before tackling the project, I had to come up with a game plan. I summoned my crew of three to the bridge for a meeting.

             
"Whatever happened to 974-Bernhard?" Kurt asked.

             
"It's still out there," I responded.

             
"Why can't we mine it? If it's still loaded with gold, we wouldn't need investors."

             
"About fifty years ago some prospectors staked a claim, even though there wasn't much left after the
Cape Hatteras
had stripmined the metallic half of the asteroid. I've been there. The camp is just a collection of prefab units and mining equipment. It's a very radioactive environment, and excavating deeper means drilling through nickel-iron as hard as steel, but they do manage to produce small amounts of gold from deep down. It's a hard life for little return."

             
"You could probably convince Ed Iron if you turned on the charm," Stacey said.

             
"I intend to try him first," I replied. "I'm sure he'd keep quiet about it, but he's not dumb. He'll want a full plan and methodology before we speak directly."

             
"I wouldn't worry," Kurt commented. "This is going to be an easy salvage. You know what violent decompression usually does to a ship."

             
"Yeah, the jet of escaping air spins it to hundreds of revolutions per minute. This one is barely turning at all. With a few strap-thrusters in the right places, we can stop it. Then we cut our way in," Stacey suggested.

             
"We don't know whether it's decompressed," I said, worried that I might sound silly.

             
"What are the chances that thing still has air in it? One in a million?"

             
"Probably, but we should still find out. Do we have a drill and pressure sensor on hand?"

             
"I can improvise a drill," Neil said, "but we don't have a pressure sensor. I didn't think we'd need one for the probe salvage, so I never bought one."

             
"We could try the laser spectrograph," suggested Stacey. "It may be able to tell whether there's air behind those windows."

 
              "I never thought we'd use that thing. I'm glad I didn't have it removed during the last refit," I said.

             
The
Amaranth Sun
had just been refurbished a year before. The job had cost me dearly, mainly because the ship was never intended to be a salvor but instead an exploration vessel. It still held the record for the second furthest manned expedition into the outer solar system. Its design gave it an important advantage: it had an enormous range, but alternatively it could sit in space for years if properly provisioned. That's a plus if you need to remain alongside a wreck for months at a stretch.

             
The spectrometer was a relic left over from my ship's exploration days. I considered it useless, but it hadn't been worth removing. It didn't take Stacey long to configure it and get a result. The spectrometer detected no air at all. The salvage would have to be done using lunar-grade environment suits, also known as moon suits.

             
With that in mind we drafted our game plan, which we finished in less than a day. There was no way Ed wouldn't want in on it. Still, sending the proposal is always the hardest part when you're asking for money. You always second-guess what you've written. We just had to wait for Ed to receive it, look it over, and initiate direct contact if he were interested or send a polite no if he weren't. It was a tense two days before we heard back from him.

             
It took about 45 minutes for radio transmission to reach home from where we were. Pleasantries take hours with delays like that, so it's standard procedure to send a message in text detailing what you want to say beforehand, thereby avoiding lengthy conversations. You also learn to speak in paragraphs rather than sentences, and you never get used to seeing people's reactions long after you've finished speaking. Ed's text reply was simple. It read: "I'm in." His image appeared moments later on the communications screen.

             
"Cam," said Ed, "it's good to see you. I got your report. It's an amazing find. Fantastic, I must say, absolutely fantastic." Although he was usually businesslike and always poker-faced, his excitement showed in the tone of his voice. I could safely predict that I'd snared one of the wealthiest men in the southwestern UNAG. "Imagine it!" he effused. "The
Cape Hatteras
found. I can't fathom what it might be worth today."

             
That was no small statement for Ed, who knew real wealth. He had made his fortune by manufacturing airtight domes for the colonies. Now he was an old man resting on his laurels, spending his time funding treasure hunts and adventurers, living vicariously through them from his mansion complex in Roswell, New Mexico, and always turning a nice profit.

              "Sorry about the delay in getting back to you. It's a tall order for me right now, since I've got something big in the works that I'm not at liberty to discuss. I've had to involve a few others. You know them already: Marty, Babe, Mrs. Li, Renier, and Volkov—the usual suspects. I got your list. You'll have everything you need and then some. We've already found a good salvage ship for you. It's called the
Hyperion
. We'll have her out to you in nine months. Nothing but the best. It's still hard for me to believe that someone finally found that wreck. How I wish I were a younger man; I'd love to be out there with you. Sorry I can't get that ship to you sooner. I understand the need to get this project going, but logistics are what they are."

             
It's a reality of working in space that you can't do anything fast. Earth was millions of miles away, and we weren't equipped for a major salvage. We'd need the
Hyperion
to do the heavy work. The
Amaranth Sun
is a small vessel with little cargo space. It's just big enough to tie NASA's antique probe to the side and transport it home. It would not bear the immense treasure of the
Cape Hatteras
.

             
"I see in your report," continued Ed, "that you're going to do a complete survey. Good call. We'll need to know what we're up against and keep the surprises down. Another thing, we'd also like to bring the ship itself back, a tow ship will meet you at the end of the the salvage. B.T. Hall is planning a new resort in lunar orbit. This would be just the thing to boost the draw. You know how big lunar tourism is. Leasing the
Cape Hatteras
could mean a nice secondary income stream for us. Maybe enough to send you out to look for something else. I've got my secret project in the works, and there's also the
INS Elichpur
. It's never been found, you know."

             
Since I was going to be filthy rich, I wasn't certain I'd ever want to salvage again. But then I thought about the
Elichpur
. It had disappeared while on its way to deliver rare artwork bought by an eccentric billionaire who had lived in isolation on Mars almost a century ago. It was worth a fortune. I'd have to do it, and I was dying to know what his secret project was.

             
"Sounds great, Ed. I'm ready," I replied. "I've got enough on the
Amaranth Sun
to stay here for a while, but be sure to send supplies and fuel. I also can't stress enough that you guys need to be low-key. Do everything you can to keep this quiet."

             
I trusted Ed to be discreet, but he was just one of five investors. I knew all of them personally. When you're as rich as they are, bragging rights are more important than making more money, and I could easily imagine word of my discovery getting out at the country club over 100-year-old single-malt scotch.

             
"Don't worry," Ed reassured me. "I've got it well in hand. I've had my lawyer draft a stiff confidentiality agreement. Anyone who leaks information will lose so much that they'll be broke. I'm also having the whole thing compartmentalized. Only the investors know the big picture. Everyone else won't know enough to put two and two together, and we're having the specialists on the
Hyperion
agree to isolation from the public for the duration of the project."

             
"Thanks Ed. This is the big one! I'm glad to have you along."

             
"Glad to be in on it, and thank you for coming to me first. There's one other thing. Do you have the full sensor logs for your ship? All the way back to when Van der Boort owned it? If you do, could you please send me a copy?"

             
That seemed an odd question. The logs had nothing to do with the
Cape Hatteras
salvage, but I did have them.

             
"I do, and I'll send them along immediately."

             
I then sent a few other messages to keep our affairs in order back on Earth. Most important was the matter of the Smithsonian. They sent a nasty reply when they found out that their new exhibit would be delayed by at least a year, but I figured that if I refunded their money and still delivered their probe, they'd get over it. I could afford losses like that with the solar system's greatest treasure in my hands.