Time Salvager (Time Salvager #1)(20)
James found out just how large and important this jump was a few minutes into the briefing. Sunken City was the salvage for the infamous Nutris Platform disaster of 2097. The year itself, often referred to as the Cliffside of Humanity, was equally famous for being the final year of prosperity before the Great Decay began.
The latter part of the twenty-first century was known as the Final Golden Age, a half century blessed with peace, cooperation, and innovation. During that era, the nations of Earth rose up against the threats of environmental catastrophes, famine, and greed. They ushered in an era of many great technological and cultural wonders. Unfortunately, it was short-lived. The Nutris Platform was one of the last relics of that time.
“Why am I dropping so far away from the platform?” he asked as he pulled up the job briefing. For some reason, the physical insertion point was thirty kilometers farther out than usual.
“There are concerns with the military facility’s advance surveillance,” said Smitt. “We’re just being extra cautious on this job.” James grunted in disbelief but continued reading, skimming over the general overview and digging in to his mission parameters. A massive secret military facility off the coast of Russia, the platform had sunk into the Arctic Ocean days after it went online. According to public documents, a faulty experimental power source—the progenitor to the Titan source—was the culprit. Over three thousand scientists, military personnel, and crew were lost.
He frowned. “If a power generator was the catalyst of the disaster, I can’t extract the energy source that caused the explosion. Isn’t that why Nutris has been off-limits from salvages all this time?”
Smitt nodded and looked over at Sourn, the head suit. Sourn was a representative of Valta Corporation, one of the three largest mining conglomerates in the solar system and majority owner of Europa colony. The company also held 14 percent of Jupiter’s mining rights, 21 percent of Neptune’s mining rights, and owned outright fourteen of Jupiter’s sixty-seven moons.
By the looks of Sourn and how labored his walking was, this was probably the first time he had ever set foot on Earth. James doubted the man had ever been in a full-gravity environment. Europa, where Valta was based, ran only a third of Earth’s gravity on the colony. His face was particularly pale, even by spaceborn standards.
“Chronman James Griffin-Mars, we’re fully aware of the Time Laws and the limitations of our rights from the purchase of the Nutris contract. We understand that the power core is off-limits. We don’t want that.” He transmitted several images to James’s AI band. “We want these.”
One was a stock photograph of a data core, and the other two were drawings of what looked like machinery: one a series of small machines connected by tubes and filters, and the other a circular contraption centered around a crystal in a container. James studied the picture and then the drawings. The images were so basic he couldn’t make out what each machine’s purpose could be.
“Seems pretty straightforward,” said James, bemused, not quite sure what the big deal was. “You want me to obtain industrial equipment from an isolated military platform in the Arctic Circle within a two-to-three-day window?”
“Technically a four-hour window, between when the explosion is first reported and when the platform sinks into the ocean,” Smitt corrected.
James’s jaw fell open. “After the explosion? Why not the night before?”
Sourn shook his head. “It has to be in that window. There’s too much time line risk if you initiate early.”
“That makes no sense,” James said, looking over the data more closely. “Unless taking these three units would prevent the explosion, I can just grab them the night before and avoid the chaos. I don’t see the—”
“It has to be after!” Sourn cut him off. He looked over at Smitt. “Moving on.”
“There are concerns about breaking the data core’s uplink prematurely,” Smitt said.
James wasn’t sold on their logic. That was something the time line could have easily healed over, but if this was the way they wanted it done, he would accommodate them.
“Fine. After. What about the layout of the place?”
“The facility was highly classified, so no blueprint survived,” Smitt said. “You’ll have to scout the platform on-site.”
“Small window, zero scouting report, classified military installation?” James ticked off each finger. “This whole thing is literally f*cking impossible.”
Sourn shrugged. “When we purchased this contract from ChronoCom, we were assured one of their best would be assigned to it. We have every confidence in your ability to carry this out successfully. After speaking with your associate here, we believe our added incentives should be adequately persuasive.”
Smitt leaned in. “Remember what we talked about last night? On top of the payout that effectively buys out four years of our contract, Valta is also offering us residency on Europa if we hit all the objectives. You said you wanted out of ChronoCom; this is the way.”
Sourn nodded. “As you know, Europa is an exclusive colony; not anyone can just migrate there. If you perform as expected, Valta will gladly extend an invitation and offer employment at a salary commensurate with your status as a ChronoCom operative.”
These buyouts, commonly referred to as golden ticket jobs, were extraordinarily rare. The guaranteed pay at his current scale on Europa was just icing on the cake. It sounded way too good to be true. All chronmen’s accounts were held and controlled by ChronoCom, and all the funds reverted to it if the chronman died. A chronman could get control of his account only after buying out his contract. And considering that the life expectancy of people in James’s line of work averaged less than ten years, it was a long shot for anyone to get a chance to earn out of ChronoCom.