Hunting Teddy Bears, page 1
Hunting Teddy Bears
J. Paul Cooper
Published by J. Paul Cooper, 2021.
Copyright Page
Hunting Teddy Bears Copyright © 2021 by J. Paul Cooper All Rights Reserved
Hunting Teddy Bears is a work of fiction, any resemblence to persons alive or dead is purely coincidental. Names and places are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously.
Unauthorized reproduction of this eBook violates the author’s rights to be paid for his intellectual property.
Cover Design by Brent Nichols, www.CoolSeriesCovers.com
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
To my wife and daughter, who have patiently listened to my literary ramblings, and encouraged me to keep trying.
To God, who gave me a vivid imagination and the desire to write.
CHAPTER ONE
The fire had reached the propulsion system, and twenty-year-old Coulter Hazlow had allowed it to happen. If he had immediately ordered the vents open in the cargo hold, the vacuum of space would have sucked out the oxygen that fed the blaze. His decision would have stopped the fire spreading throughout the vessel, but it would have also killed Johnson. His brief hesitation allowed the fire to grow. Now the priority had switched from fighting the blaze, and trying to save Johnson, to getting off the deep space freighter before it exploded.
Coulter followed his crewmembers through the disorientating chaos of thick smoke, deafening alarms and flashing emergency lights. As the designated squad leader, Coulter was the last crewmember to enter what was known as “the vault,” where they could all safely enter the
escape pods. The vault had a self-contained life support system and was designed to withstand extreme heat and pressure.
Slamming the vault’s hatch shut, Coulter checked the crew list. The three escape pods held five crewmembers each. Including himself, fourteen were accounted for.
“I had no choice,” he whispered.
Coulter forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand, as his mind struggled with the death of a crewmember he was responsible for. He wanted to turn around, go back and find him, but it was too late. The temperature had risen so high in the propulsion unit that their evac suits would melt. Any attempt to rescue Johnson would be suicidal.
Coulter checked that all of the crewmembers in the vault were strapped securely in their escape pods, then entered the last one himself.
Francine Jacobs, his best friend, watched him as he adjusted his safety harness. “He might still be alive.”
“I hope not,” Coulter replied.
Coulter waited until the first two escape pods had jettisoned, then typed the six-digit code on the wall panel. He watched through a window as the space freighter shrank in the distance. Moments later, the freighter disappeared in a brilliant flash.
Coulter, and his fellow classmates at the Western Canadian Space Academy, were reviewing the results of the safety drill. There were three large screens on the wall; the left screen showed a schematic of the vessel, and the location of each crewmember. The center screen was
divided into squares, each showing the face of a crewmember. When a crewmember spoke, the square surrounding his or her image flashed bright orange. It also displayed their vital signs, so it was easy to determine who was beginning to panic.
The communication system had a design similar to those on many vessels, only one crewmember at a time could be heard. It avoided the hassle of trying to make sense of a garbled conversation, and it also trained students to keep sentences short and to the point.
For the drill currently under review, the simulation had depicted a deep space freighter. In previous weeks it had been a mining vessel, or a cruise ship. The instructor, Commander Ackerland, taught at the Space Academy, but retained her rank as a reserve officer in the Earth Defence Force. “What do you think about Coulter’s decision to leave Johnson behind?”
Astor Johnson put up his hand. “A very poor decision Commander. Losing a highly skilled, intelligent, good-looking, humble young man, with such tremendous potential, was a great loss to the human race.”
Ackerland smiled. “Alright, other than the great loss to humanity, was it the right decision?”
Coulter put up his hand. “I shouldn’t have hesitated to open the vents, it might have saved the ship.”
“In this case,” the commander added, “we can’t be sure if it would have worked. As soon as the vents were closed again, life support would have flooded the corridors with oxygen, and the fire may have reignited.”
Astor put his hand up. “But, there might not have been enough latent heat to reignite the fire.”
“That’s true” Ackerland replied, “but since the fire had been causing minor explosions, live wires may have been exposed. Oxygen. Sparks. Fire.”
“So, I did the right thing by leaving the vents shut?” asked Coulter.
The commander shook her head. “No. You should have at least tried opening the vents. Since you didn’t, fourteen crewmembers are adrift in deep space. If you’re lucky, another vessel will pick you up before you run out of oxygen. However, depending on which vessel stops for you, you might be better off running out of oxygen. There are many regions in the universe where slave trading is a very profitable business.
The academy logo appeared on the two side screens and a list replaced the images of students on the center screen. “These jurisdictions,” Commander Ackerland continued, “are signatories to the Universal Safety Protocol. Although there are always companies and individuals who ignore the rules, most vessels operating under the Universal Safety Protocol will have safety standards comparable to Earth standards. If you choose to join the crews of
vessels from other jurisdictions, you might find yourself working in extremely dangerous conditions.
Francine raised her hand. “Haven’t some Academy graduates worked in jurisdictions, that haven’t signed the Universal Safety Protocol? If the rumours are true, you can earn a lifetime of credits in a couple of years.”
“What it really boils down to,” Commander Ackerland replied, “is how much risk you’re willing to accept, and whether it’s worth the end results. A couple of my classmates, from this academy, went to work on mining ships that hadn’t signed the Universal Safety Protocol. One of them came back to Earth with enough credits to start his own business. The second student died; she was a good friend, and her name was Sarah. Fortunately, her body was found, so her family knows she’s gone, and they aren’t waiting for a message that will never arrive.”
“If you lose contact with someone, isn’t there an investigation?” asked Francine.
“You can ask as many questions as you like,” replied the commander, “but you may not get any answers. All a company has to say is the crewmember resigned, and they have no idea where he or she went.”
“So,” Francine continued, “if no body is found, what happens?”
“Then the person is listed as missing,” the commander said. “Your friend or family member may have died, she could be rotting in an alien prison, or worse.”
“Worse?” Coulter asked.
“Like I said earlier,” the commander replied, “slave trading is a very profitable business.”
“If it’s so dangerous, should we be travelling into deep space?” asked Coulter.
“Definitely!” replied the commander. “In 1969 travelling to the moon was very dangerous. The first mission to Mars, even more so. The scientists travelling into deep space, to establish the colony on Caslem are taking a great risk. There’s no progress, unless you accept the challenge.”
Coulter paused. “The first transport ships leave next week.”
“You must be proud,” said the commander, “that your father’s sister is part of the Caslem mission.”
“I am proud,” replied Coulter. “But, I’m also terrified.”
It was only a 600 km journey from Calgary to the Canadian International Spaceport in Saskatoon, one of several funded by the Deep-Space Commerce and Exploration Agency. Soon it would be time to say good-bye to his Aunt Angela, perhaps forever. He fought back tears as the family’s sky car travelled above fields of wheat and canola.
Coulter was glad that his Aunt Angela had been at his high school graduation, the class of 2081, two years earlier. He looked forward to visiting her on Caslem, once he graduatd from the four-year Operations and Navigation program. Perhaps he’d go to Caslem as a crewmember on a supply vessel.
The sky car began its descent as it approached the spaceport. No flying vehicles of any description were allowed within a ten-kilometer radius of the facility. Settling on a landing pad near the main road, the vehicle’s wheels extended and Coulter and his family joined the busy highway traffic. This would be perhaps the most important day in human history, as supply ships began their voyage to establish the first Earth colony in deep space. The ships’ crewmembers would be part of the colony, because the vessels themselves would be the first buildings on the surface.
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“I can’t believe it, my little sister is about to make history,” Reggie, Coulter’s father said. He was sitting in the passenger seat, while Coulter’s mother, Sandra was in the driver’s seat.
The left front seat was still called the driver’s seat. Legally, whoever sat there was responsible for watching the road and taking control of the vehicle if necessary. If the onboard computer detected an aberration, whether it was a problem with the vehicle, or the signals received by beacons, control of the vehicle would be transferred to the joystick between the two front seats.
Many drivers read eBooks, watched movies, or took naps during long trips, assuming that
technology had finally conquered Murphy’s Law. Sandra was relaxed, but watching the road. Regardless how well safety systems and signal beacons were designed, you were still
surrounded by other vehicles travelling at one hundred kilometers per hour. Although they were less frequent than in the past, accidents still happened.
Coulter sat in the back, next to his fourteen-year-old sister, Jessie.
“How long will it be, before we see Aunt Angela again?” asked Jessie. “I know we’ll be able to watch the video reports, but it won’t be the same.”
“It’s expected to be a ten year rotation,” answered Sandra. “so she’ll have to watch a video of your university graduation.”
“If I go to university,” replied Jessie.
Sandra looked back at her daughter. “It’s your future.”
Arriving at the spaceport’s first check-point, the sky car was scanned for explosives, and its registration checked to confirm it wasn’t a stolen vehicle. Once they’d parked the vehicle and entered the main building, processing continued with full-body x-rays and retinal scans. The retinal scans were linked to police and public health databases. If you had a criminal record, were under investigation, or on any government watch list, the guards would take you aside for questioning. If your name appeared on a list of patients that had previously been infected with a serious illness, you’d be taken aside for an interview with medical personnel.
Since most international databases were now interlinked, it didn’t matter if you were from Oxford, Moscow, or Helsinki. Your entire life was just a file that anyone with the right access code could explore.
Once they’d all been identified as family members, the Hazlows were escorted to a private room. Angela stood on the other side of a glass wall, protecting her from any potential viruses.
“Well folks, this is my life.” Angela began. “I’m basically an oversized lab rat.”
“Maybe,” Jessie smiled, “but a good looking one.”
Angela laughed. “I guess I shouldn’t complain, I’m also a well-paid lab rat.”
“How about that!” Reggie said. “I was the first Hazlow to make it past Earth’s gravity, but my little sister will be will be the first Hazlow to live in deep space.”
Coulter put his hand against the glass. “Promise you’ll come back to Earth someday.”
Angela wiped a tear from her cheek. “I can’t make that promise. The goal is to make it a permanent colony, a place where people start families and live out their entire lives.”
“Then I’ll move to Caslem,” Jessie announced.
Sandra glanced at her daughter. “In that case, you’ll have to attend a university, and graduate with an excellent Grade Point Average. The competition for assignments on Caslem are fierce.”
“No problem,” Jessie replied. “I’ll get a degree from one of the most prestigious universities. What’s the highest Grade Point Average you can earn?”
“Four-point-zero, summa cum laude,” Sandra replied.
Jessie shrugged. “Then, that’s what I’ll graduate with.”
Reggie smiled at Angela. “Well sis, you better get a spare bed ready on Caslem. Jessie is just as stubborn and determined as you. Once she gets her mind set on something, she won’t stop until she gets it.”
Reggie turned to Coulter. “And once you’ve graduated from the Space Academy, you can make sure your Aunt is supplied with her favourite coffee.”
“It’s a fine grind, French dark roast, blended with chicory,” Angela added. “Vietnamese restaurants add sweet condensed milk, and it makes the best tasting coffee you can find. Did you
know that data sent back by probes, show that there are areas on Caslem where the soil and temperature are ideal for growing coffee plants? We’re hoping that before our supplies run out, we’ll be roasting our own Caslem blend.”
A few minutes later Angela was gone, and the Hazlows had moved outside. They’d have to wait for another three hours, before the shuttle lifted off from the launch pad.
Caslem was a dream, and most people were expecting it to be a success. Humans had made contact with numerous sentient species, and they didn’t seem to be threatened by humanity’s first colony. There were countless habitable planets in the depths of space and Caslem was only one. For the many planets torn by sectarian strife, it was supposed to be a shining example of how individuals from diverse ethnicities, political views, and religions could cooperate and live in peace.
CHAPTER TWO
“So, the humans have established a colony, on the planet we chose for a new base. How did that happen?” Reeloot, President of Karzon, and Grand Magistrate of the Sacred Laws, stared down at the capitol city from her office.
In some ways Karzonians were similar to humans, and the environment on Caslem was ideal for both. In appearance, however they were obvious differences; Karzonians had rough, grey skin, had six digits on their hands, and had twin orange pupils.
“We didn’t consider them a threat,” replied Rigzar, her Chief of Intelligence. “Apparently, the officer responsible for monitoring that section of space wasn’t expecting the humans to try and expand into that region.”
“But they did.”
“Yes, President Reloot.”
“There are always consequences for failure.”
“Of course.”
Reeloot glanced over her shoulder at Rigzar. “How are you going to deal with the officer responsible for monitoring that section of space? My political adversaries must not become aware of this blunder. He must die, so everyone who knew about the plan to set up a base on that planet, will keep their mouths shut.”
“It has already been taken care of; he had an accident this morning,” Rigzar replied. “His life partner will receive the standard survivor’s pension, and she’s smart enough to not ask any awkward questions.”
“Good,” Reeloot said.
“What do you want to do about the humans?” asked Rigzar.
“We can’t ask them to leave, or try and negotiate” Reeloot said, ‘that would imply weakness. And we can’t risk war, at least not yet. The humans have acquired some allies, so we’d have to send a substantial battle fleet to the other side of the universe. That would leave our home world exposed.”
Rigzar smiled. “I know of a pair of assassins, who could persuade the humans to leave. They’re unique. No one will suspect them.”
“I’ll leave it to you,” Reeloot said. “Buy the equipment they need, but make sure nothing is manufactured in Karzon, or bought from a Karzonian trader. I don’t want anything traceable back to this office.”
“I have another suggestion,” Rigzar added. “We could charge them with some minor crime, before the begin their mission, and register them as prisoners.”
Reeloot thought about it for a moment. “Even if you offer them an air-tight alibi, you’re still going to have to pay a steep price for their services. Attacking a colony, that’s taking a greater risk than killing a single target.”
“I have a perfect solution.”
“I’m sure you do,” Reloot said.
“Is there anything else you need me for?” asked Rigzar.
“Yes,” Reeloot answered. “How soon will you be ready to start trials with the Neuro-Interference Device? The ability to influence our enemies thoughts, that would give our military unlimited power. We’ll be able to crush our enemies and expand as far as we wish.”
