The Callisto Protocol

CH/\PTER 01: Cargo

In Jacob's experience, dread was the manner in which human instincts tended to manifest themselves.

He resettled himself in his pilot's chair and began an unobtrusive check of his instrumentation. He didn't want Max to realize he was a little freaked out. Though after a few seconds he realized that Max was still too wrapped up in the news to really be paying attention. He probably wasn't even really aware of the fact that he was flicking his Zippo again.

Jacob tuned it out, focusing more intently on his instrument panel, and opening himself up a bit more to the feel of the ship. Pilot for long enough and you got so that you could have a sort of sixth sense about your vessel. When problems might be coming down the pipe, nasty and mean. He'd staved off two serious wrecks now by accurately predicting some major malfunctions. Which wasn't nearly as comforting as it might sound.

His ship was old, and they hadn't been able to afford maintenance for too long. They'd let it go and now, besides a dozen lights, too many of the restraints in the cargo bay, and a murmur in the engines, the heat sync was screwed up. He wiped absently at his forehead, frowning at the warm handful of sweat that came away.

Jacob had been through hell and back more times than he cared to count. Sometimes hell was hot, sometimes it was cold, sometimes it was the dead depths of deep, dark space. On a scale of horrid conditions to work and live under, this wasn't even that bad. But it was starting to get to him. Everything about today had worn him down and he was closer to the edge than he would've liked.

He knew a lot of that pressure was coming from the fact that this job was it. The big one. The last one. He held onto that thought very firmly. The last one. The final shady cargo-haul between Jupiter's moons he was ever going to do.

And it was a long, long time coming.

"The UJC has declassified some actual footage from within Europa colony District Zeta, where the outbreak initially occurred."

Jacob's frown deepened as he glanced over at the screen Max was staring so intently into, curiosity getting the better of him. He'd heard about what had happened on Europa, everyone had, and he'd been arguing with Max about it for weeks now. He'd gotten it into his head that they were somehow connected to it. Something was up, though, because that hadn't been his original argument.

Max made no secret that he hated the United Jupiter Company. Jacob wasn't too fond of them either, but they ruled Jupiter and her moons. What could really be done against them? They were God out here. Judge, jury, and executioner. They saw all, controlled all, and owned all. That was just the way it was.

But something had changed. In the beginning, it had just been complaints, uneasy paranoia that Jacob himself shared. He had to admit that there was something shady about running cargo from Callisto, the dead moon that housed only a prison. And nothing else. Not any other colony, no mining camps, no research outposts.

Just that prison, Black Iron.

What could they be shipping that was so important? That they were willing to offer some massive bonus? That it required dozens of trips from not just him but a dozen other cargo ships from what he could see. Something was fishy, but wasn't that always the case? When weren't the damned UJC fishy? But then Max had become convinced that they were somehow responsible for the outbreak on Europa. But how did that track?

He never seemed to have a satisfactory answer or theory, just that somehow, in some way, primarily through working for the UJC, they'd had a hand in the incident. They'd gone round and round on it for so long that by now, it didn't even matter. This was their final assignment, and then it was a big, fat payday, and nothing but good booze, hot steaks, and hotter women.