The Marker

Everyone's excited about the Ishimura coming out to our little corner of the galaxy, and with good reason. That particular planet cracker is pretty much a celebrity among folks of our profession. The thing has so much history to it, it was pretty much a legend before it was even christened and launched out of the shipyards. And we've all heard the promotions in one way or another: Sixty-two years of continuous service. It holds the record for highest number of planet cracks, with thirty-four to date, and highest dead weight of refined product at fourteen trillion kilotons and counting!

As you can tell, I've heard that promo way too much—but it doesn't even come close to doing that vessel justice. The U.S.G. Ishimura cracked the first planet I ever worked on. It was done with one terribly loud, earthtrembling yank, and that chunk of rock the size of Veritas went skyward with all the swiftness of a small shuttle. It was an unsettling feeling, watching part of the planet return to the heavens, like observing a stellar unbirth.

All the planet cracks I've seen since then have paled in comparison. The rest of the fleet doesn't have the power or the mythos behind them to even attempt to make the kind of impression the Ishimura did. I'll be glad to see it in action again.

And who knows? We might be seeing a bit of history-in-the-making here. From what I've learned, the vessel is on the fast track toward being decommissioned. After Aegis Seven, it'll probably be hollowed out and kicked into orbit around Titan as a tourist's attraction. A better fate than being stripped down for parts, a dead husk to be exploited into nothingness.

Maybe I can convince the foreman to give me shuttle access so I can watch the Ishimura crack the planet from its bridge. I've heard that some workers are given that privilege if they've earned it along the way. I think it'd be a sight to see from space.

—

There's been some trouble out at one of the northernmost POFs. All of the anchors are in place except for one, and rumor has it that it's on account of some "unexpected finding." In my experience, that means a deposit that the surveyors missed. It's always the damn surveyors.

The solution could be as simple as one carefully-placed explosive; or as complicated as a week's worth of calculations, another week's worth of drilling, followed by more carefully-placed explosives. You can never tell what sort of bind ignorance can get you caught up in. I'm preparing for the worst, but I don't think they would have sent off for the Ishimura if it was something that couldn't be fixed quickly.

In any case, it's not my site, not my POF, not my problem. Just gonna have to wait and see, and honestly that's that hardest part of this job.

—

It must not have been a big problem, because the anchor went in today without the need for explosives. Didn't think they'd make a try for it, since this dust storm's been tearing the colony a new one, but they took a bunch of vehicles out there blind and came back before dark.

Vancil thinks the crew brought something back with them. I'm not sure what he's basing this on, but he seems pretty sure about it. Sometimes the company gets all antsy like this when gold or diamonds are found at a site. It gets removed quick, clean, and is sealed away before any of the miners can get at it. There's a clause in our contract that keeps us from pocketing valuable gems and minerals, but it happens regardless.

But Vancil wasn't telling me this all matter-of-factly; he sounded anxious. Scared, even. I'm not gonna lie, he creeped me out with that talk, but it's not like he has a sixth sense about these things. Still, he seemed dead sure that something was wrong. I haven't seen him since this morning, and he hasn't been in his room. He might just be ignoring my calls, but I can't imagine why.

—

Woke up today to find most of the western end of the colony emptied. The dust storm had died down, so I briefly wondered if everybody had gone outside for some fresh air. But looking out one of the windows, I saw nothing. No maintenance crews, no miners on their breaks, no random pedestrians. Nothing. It was odd. At times like that, you have thoughts of rapture, of turning a corner to find emptied suits and uniforms.

A young man crossed my path running and nearly disappeared down the next hallway, but I managed to get his attention. Maybe another sinner like myself. "Hey, where the hell is everyone?" I think I came across as more threatening than I had intended because the kid froze right up.

"Sorry!" he said quickly. I felt bad. "Everyone's over in the hanger. They found something out there on the line."

"What'd they find?"

He looked nervous. "That's what I was running to find out." He took a step back. "Sorry," he repeated.

"No, I'm sorry. Didn't mean to be short with you. So, you have no idea what it is? Was it gold?" Only a gold nugget the size of a shuttle could pull a whole wing of the colony away from their duties.

"I think it's something else, sir. I saw folks crying, and they took a whole mess of people who'd fainted over to the infirmary."

"Wha—?" I decided to stop wasting time and just find out for myself. "Lead the way, kid."

He nodded and took off down the hall, myself in tow. We passed through the entire wing to get to the hanger and I saw nobody at all. I had to jump over bits of debris—paper, books, coffee mugs, cans of SUN—as if people had just dropped what they'd been doing and left. As if; that's probably exactly what happened.

We rounded one more corner, passed through the large hatchway into the hanger, and nearly ran headlong into a vast crowd. I immediately lost the kid in the shuffle. This wasn't just the western wing; it looked like half the damned colony had decided to crowd themselves inside the small hanger, built to hold a few shuttles and random equipment. The crowd had already spilled out onto the outer pathway.

Everyone was shouting at the top of their lungs, waving their arms, or down on their knees. It looked like they were praying. I tried to push through, but no one would budge. Someone yelled not three inches from my ear, "This is our fucking life, man! This is our destiny!" I swear he nearly blew out my eardrum.

I gave up breaking through the crowd, and every time I got someone's attention, they couldn't hear a word I said and vice versa. So I backed up and kept backing up until I hit the wall, which I followed to the next exit. I nearly tripped over a collection of lit candles and flowers trying to get back into the colony proper.

After a moment of relaxing quiet, I remembered that there was a room overlooking the hangar, and that a buddy of mine was stationed up there from time to time. Even if he wasn't, maybe there was someone who could tell me what the bloody hell was happening.

At the end of the hall, I used one of my keys to access the maintenance passage, and immediately on the other side was the entrance to the stairwell. The door into the room was locked, so I started banging on it. "Hey, Singh, you in there? Could you let me in?" I pounded on the door a few more times and, thankfully, Singh came around to open the door. He looked exhausted.

"Came to get a front row seat?" he asked with a smile.

"Man, I have no idea what the fuck's going on around here. I've got people lighting candles, shouting, pushing, shoving." I walked inside and he closed the door behind me. "What's going on down there?"

He favored me with an incredulous look and shook his head slightly. "I can't say. You've gotta see it for yourself." He led me toward the window that overlooked the hanger's interior. The crowd had formed around something massive in the middle of the floor. It was a formation of black stone that resembled the pincer of a crab, inlaid with odd designs that seemed to glow bright red.

People fought to get near it, but a ring made up of colony security guards brandishing high-powered stun guns stood in their way. They waved their guns around, trying to look menacing, but I knew they had more or less drawn security duty from a hat. They wouldn't be shooting anyone.

I took a break from my awing and asked Singh, "Where'd it come from?"

He shrugged. "It came back with the convoy that installed the last anchor yesterday. I think they found it out there."

"That can't be right."

"I know what I saw, and I know we didn't bring it with us."

"That looks exactly like—"

"Yes, it does," Singh said. "And I'm sure most of the people in that crowd are thinking the same thing."

I wasn't a Unitologist myself, but that didn't mean I was ignorant of their philosophy, their history, their icons. Whether or not it was true that it had been pulled from the line, I knew what it looked like.

The Marker. And as they say in the same breath: Altman be praised.