The Simulacrum (First Contact), page 14
Gabriel’s nervous, as his legal team’s strategy is a well-intentioned lie, but a lie nonetheless, as that’s not why those images were on his laptop. They were planted. He’s been set up. And he worries as lies leave him exposed.
“Specialist Ramirez has a unique role in our military. His job isn’t to ignore these images but to look for ties with the criminal underworld and any nation-state security services looking to blackmail our citizens. As such, evidence of illegal pornography on his NSA computer is devoid of context.
“For you or I, such images would be heinous, but for him, they’re pieces of a puzzle. The meta-data associated with them, reverse-image searches through law enforcement databases and even facial recognition searches can allow him to pinpoint the location of victims and identify when foreign intelligence services are seeking to exploit and compromise US citizens undertaking illegal activity.”
Gabriel is careful to keep a neutral expression and look straight ahead at the judge. His legal team told him that guilt or innocence is often decided during the closing arguments. Subtle changes in body language can be misconstrued. By appearing neutral, he portrays an image of being detached and unemotional, and that suggests innocence—or so his lawyer says. Gabriel watches the judge, who’s alternating between watching the defense counsel and the members of the panel. It seems everyone’s watching everyone else, trying to glean what little they can from body language. Lies can be exposed by contradictions or reactions. Everyone’s looking for the truth, but Gabriel knows it doesn’t lie in this courtroom. Whoever set him up is removing a pawn from the chessboard, and he’s powerless to counter them.
“On several other occasions,” his lawyer says, “Specialist Ramirez has passed similar information on to the FBI and local enforcement authorities to facilitate arrests, but his concern is national security. He cannot. He must not act until he is satisfied that national security is not being compromised.”
Gabriel understands that what his lawyer is not saying is as important as anything he does say. By glossing over points the prosecution labored to get across, his lawyer is being dismissive of them, belittling them.
“What, to you or me, looks like an unreasonable delay is actually an NSA analyst gathering sufficient information to make a clear deliberation. Rather than flushing out small-time players, he’s after the king-pins. Patience is needed.
“What the prosecutor would have you believe is that these images were collected for his own gratification, but they weren’t. They were nothing more than evidence being gathered as pieces of a vast jigsaw puzzle. Specialist Ramirez was being thorough and meticulous before filing his investigative report.”
Gabriel can’t help himself. He has to look. The members of the panel will decide his fate. He glances across, wanting to see if they’re absorbed in what his lawyer is saying or if they appear dismissive. To his horror, several of them are looking straight at him, not his defense counsel, as the tall man strides back and forth, delivering his closing statements. As if making eye contact isn’t bad enough, breaking it is worse. Gabriel returns to staring at the judge. His teeth clench, which is a mistake, revealing his nerves. He relaxes his jaw, trying to look impartial.
“Why did my client run? Was fleeing his apartment an admission of guilt? No. It was natural. As someone who grew up in a minority household in southern America, Specialist Ramirez understands how routine arrests can go wrong for the simplest of reasons. He feared for his life.
“When threatened, we all have a fight or flight reaction. As the arresting officer testified, the police found a loaded gun on the kitchen countertop, but this is proof my client was not going to fight. He had that option. In the chaos and confusion of the moment, and without any clear indication from the police as to why they were present, he panicked. Is that a sign of guilt or a sign of being human? Our reactions to sudden stress are limited. Flee, fight or surrender. Out of these three, to flee is the only one that offers hope. No, my client ran not out of guilt but because he was being pursued without cause. He was scared. I would be, too. His reaction was natural. And when confronted on the back street, he surrendered without a fight.”
Gabriel stares down at his handcuffed hands clenched in front of him on the desk. He has to force himself to raise his eyes and maintain his focus on the judge.
Who the hell set him up? And why? And how the hell did they gain access to his secure laptop? And his AI home assistant, Valerie? Who was using her to warn him about the police during those final few moments? How the hell did they know what was going down? And how the hell did they hack into his secure home network?
In the past month, Gabriel’s had a few tangles with Iranian security services, but this is beyond them.
In the back of his mind, Gabriel’s haunted by the seemingly banal discussions he’s had with Pirate69 and MyGuy about SETI, but at no point was there any hostility. At no point did anyone seem threatened or threatening. Although he’s sure Pirate69 is Maria Petrovoski, working for the Russian GRU, and MyGuy is a fake persona being run by the Chinese Ministry of State Security, there’s no way their ad-hoc discussions about Przybylski’s Star could have any bearing on their respective national interests. He’s being taken down for a reason, but he has no idea why. And that frustrates the hell out of him.
Gabriel’s lawyer reviews a few more fragments of contradictory evidence and then concludes his closing remarks, repeating his earlier admonition.
“Innocence. That is at the heart of every trial. Our legal system is adversarial. It is designed to pit the prosecution against the defense, but you must see past the legal charade. Your job is to see through to the truth.
“The trial counsel has failed to prove beyond a doubt that the images in possession of my client are anything more than part of an ongoing investigation by him that was nearing conclusion. Given more time, my client would have followed the same course of action as before and released the information to the FBI and local law enforcement.
“Innocence is the default position of every one of us in society. Innocence is the assumption on which this trial rests. My client’s innocence is being questioned by the prosecution, but guilt has not been proven. Without clear proof of guilt, you must acquit.”
With that, his lawyer takes his seat. Gabriel gives him a slight nod in acknowledgment as he sits, but he’s careful not to let his eyes stray to the jury.
The judge provides additional instructions to the members of the panel, and they’re led away to deliberate on their decision. Gabriel is led to a holding cell adjacent to the courtroom. His cuffs are removed.
Sitting on a steel bench opposite his legal team, he asks them, “What are my chances?”
His lawyer says, “Trials aren’t about evidence. They’re not about guilt or innocence. They’re about doubts. The trial counsel has been trying to cast doubts about you in the minds of the court marshal panel.”
“And you?”
“I’ve been doing the same, trying to cast doubts about the case in their minds. We both have the same strategy: to undermine each other. The question is… who will they believe?”
“And who will they believe?”
“I’ve got to be honest,” the lawyer says. “The evidence against you is compelling. Plus, there’s the emotional angle. No one wants to see children hurt.”
“But I didn’t—”
“It doesn’t matter whether you’re innocent or not; children were hurt. It’s very difficult to get the panel to see past that emotional hurdle.”
Gabriel hangs his head.
“We can appeal,” his lawyer says. “Not only that, but we can contest this being heard as a military court marshal. It should have been passed to a federal court. It shouldn’t have been fast-tracked through the military judicial system. We should have been given more time to build our defense, but the NSA is trying to avoid bad publicity coming out of this.”
“What good will an appeal do?”
“We can get a judicial review for a mistrial. We can demand to go before the federal system. Public courts will take a stronger stance on redacted material. JAG accepts redaction without question, but a federal court will hold the prosecutor to a higher standard. They’ll want justification for any evidence that’s redacted.”
Gabriel feels deflated. Arguing over semantics isn’t going to help him. He was framed. It’s all he can do not to blurt that out, but they’ve had that discussion several times already over the past week. Rehashing his frustration isn’t going to help.
“We will appeal.”
Although he means well, his lawyer’s insistence tells Gabriel he’s already resigned himself to losing this case. It’s less than an hour before they’re recalled to the courtroom. Gabriel is handcuffed again. He feels sick.
The courtroom is colder than usual. Air spills out of the vents above him. Goosebumps rise on his skin. The members of the court marshal panel are led back in. They remain standing as the judge enters and everyone else present stands.
The judge takes his seat. “You may be seated.”
Gabriel’s hands are shaking. He clenches his fingers together on the desk.
“Members of the court marshal panel, have you reached a decision?”
The chair of the panel rises to his feet, holding a sealed white envelope. “We have, your honor.”
The court bailiff takes the envelope from him and hands it to the judge, who opens it, unfolds a single page of paper, and scans it, reading it briefly.
The chair of the panel remains standing. He has his hands clasped in front of him. His eyes cast down at the carpeted floor, avoiding eye contact with anyone.
The judge says, “The defendant will rise.”
Gabriel gets to his feet. Gabriel’s chained hands hang in front of him. His fingers tremble.
Although the judge already knows the answer, he speaks aloud, asking the chair of the panel, “When it comes to Article 117a of the Uniform Code of Military Justice and the conspiracy to knowingly commit an offense with the possession of images relating to the sexual assault of a minor, how do you find the defendant?”
“Guilty.”
“When it comes to the wrongful broadcast and distribution of images containing the sexual assault of a minor, how do you find the defendant?”
“Guilty.”
“When it comes to the abuse of a position of military authority to conduct illegal activity using secure government resources, how do you find the defendant?”
“Guilty.”
“When it comes to attempting to destroy evidence, impede an official investigation and resisting arrest, how do you find the defendant?”
“Guilty.”
“Corporal Gabriel Ramirez, it is the finding of this court that you are guilty on all charges. As sentencing submissions have already been made by the trial counsel and you waived the right to a guilty plea prior to trial, I have no option but to sentence you to the maximum term for these crimes. Your lack of remorse and lack of contrition demonstrate to the court that you have no regret over your actions.”
Urine runs down the inside of Gabriel’s leg. It’s warm, soaking into his trousers, darkening the material.
“Based on the sentencing guidelines from chapter 47, section 855, article 56 of the Uniform Code of Military Justice, I commit you to confinement at Fort Leavenworth for a duration of thirty-five years, with eligibility for parole being set at a minimum of twenty-five years.”
Gabriel’s knees go weak. He’s on the verge of collapsing. Tears run down his cheeks.
The judge slams down his gavel. The resounding thump is like thunder breaking within the courtroom, causing Gabriel to wince.
“Court is dismissed.”
Launch
Ryan has flown into space on Falcons and Shepherds but never in a Starship. In theory, it’s the same. In practice, it’s entirely different. Instead of being driven to the launchpad while already sealed in his suit and breathing oxygen from an umbilical attached to a handheld canister, he’s in a clean room. Most people have the image of astronauts racing up elevators on the launch tower to reach their capsules, but the Starship is loaded on the ground. It’s the complexity of the AMPLE mission that forced a rethink. When Apollo launched, the Command Module and the Lunar Module attached to each other in orbit. AMPLE will launch as a single stack inside the massive Starship.
Much like Apollo, though, AMPLE is three components in one. The Dragon has a service module beneath it containing fuel, water, deployable solar panels and batteries for the capsule. The hatch at the tip of the Dragon is effectively already docked to the habitability module, which contains the living space, lab and the AIRMAIL bot in storage, ready to undertake mining. It looks surprisingly like the Apollo configuration that went to the Moon, but instead of a spidery lunar lander attached to the capsule, the habitability module looks like the mirror image of the service module behind the Dragon. And also like Apollo, no thought has been given to aerodynamics or aesthetics. AMPLE is a true spacecraft and one that will never again know the touch of the atmosphere. It looks ungainly, but it is designed to be practical rather than appealing.
Within the cleanroom, Ryan and Jemma climb a set of stairs to the middle of the tall AMPLE stack and enter the hatch on the side of the Dragon. Technicians secure them in their seats, offer a thumbs up and a few smiles, and then close the hatch. The AMPLE stack of three carefully linked craft is then raised by a crane mounted on the ceiling of the vast cleanroom. From within the capsule, the two astronauts can feel the clink of the chains running through the electric winch.
The Starship variant they’re using has been affectionately nicknamed The Pistachio as it opens like a pistachio nut, being hinged at the bottom and opening wide to allow the AMPLE stack to be lowered within. Out of their windows, they can see the cavernous interior of the Starship. Shiny stainless steel surrounds them, slowly closing around them, swallowing them whole. As the Starship closes, shadows grow, and the light fades before sealing them in darkness. At each stage, the launch controller talks to them over the radio, assuring them that everything is following the prelaunch checklist.
The Starship has been mounted on a tractor pad. The vast doors of the high-bay cleanroom are then opened, destroying any sense of clean. Although the two of them can’t see anything beyond the darkness out of their capsule windows, images are streamed to them and displayed on the monitors in front of them.
“Wild, huh?” Jemma says. “Here I am, the mission pilot, and I don’t have a damn thing to do.”
“We’re at the mercy of the engineering gods,” Ryan replies, watching as the Starship is rolled out into the parking lot and toward the waiting booster already seated on the launchpad beside the Mechazilla tower with its chopstick arms.
The drive is slow. The tractor pad their Starship is mounted on has over sixty wheels distributing the weight. All of them are steerable, but nothing happens quickly. It takes almost an hour before they’re parked below the tower.
“Funny, isn’t it?” Ryan says, pointing at the image on the screen in front of them. They’re looking at a view of the entire launch complex from a drone. He taps the screen, saying. “That’s us. In there.”
“That is so cool,” Jemma says, but her voice is subdued. Like him, she must feel the helplessness of the moment. They’re being carried along by others. That’s the counterintuitive notion of spaceflight. Neither the commander nor the pilot have any real control. They’re passengers. Unlike commercial airline pilots, everything is done for them, right down to the timing of various burns once they’re in orbit. Actual piloting won’t be needed until they reach Psyche, and even then, it’ll be double and triple-checked back on Earth.
The arms on the vast Mechazilla tower lower, moving down on either side of the Starship as it sits on its trailer. After a few minutes, the arms move in and up, and the two astronauts feel their weight shift as the Starship is lifted off the trailer. The ascent up the tower is slow, something that is in stark contrast to what is about to happen when they launch. The booster is already in place and lit-up by spotlights. Its stainless steel surface glistens like silver.
Jemma says, “I am loving these views.”
“Yeah, me too,” Ryan says. “That’s something SpaceX has always done really well.”
“We could be sitting at home watching the launch,” Jemma replies.
“Drinking beer.”
“And eating Pringles.”
Once the Starship has cleared the booster, the arms on the tower turn sideways and lower the spacecraft into position. Throughout the entire process, mission control talks to them over the radio, keeping them informed of every step, but the astronauts are reluctant to reply other than to each other. The launch team doesn’t need a couple of nervous astronauts bugging them with questions. There’s a slight clunk as the Quick Disconnect arm attaches to the base of the Starship to allow for fueling.
“And fuel loading is underway,” comes over the radio a few seconds later.
From the views on their screen, they can see the progress as the super-chilled fuel causes condensation to form on the outside of both the booster below them and the Starship itself. Ice forms roughly in line with the increasing fuel level within the various internal tanks. The shiny silver skin of both the booster and Starship slowly turns white. Vapor drifts through the air, coming off the freshly formed ice.
“I’ve got to say, this is a smooth process.”
“It is,” Jemma replies.
“Preflight checks complete,” is announced over the radio, and what began well over ninety minutes ago in a cleanroom is racing toward its conclusion. “We are t-minus thirty minutes and holding… awaiting confirmation of down-range clearance.”
