23. The Outer Controversy

This is it, Ransom thought.
"Hand over the bag!"
He was staring at four armed men with each their weapons aimed at him. They were wearing realistic latex masks which made them look like completely different people from a distance, but were really fake looking up close. Whoever they were, these men had apparently exploded the bridge that connects the module to the rest of Kilgore Station. His ears where still ringing. Now no one could get to the Seventh day module without a ship or a spacesuit. They were cut off.
This is the end, thought Ransom. He knew the risks when he took the job. Now the risks have caught up with him at a different time and place than expected.
But the one of the reasons he was so willing to take a risk was because he thought he had nothing to lose. And because he had nothing to lose, he did something stupid.
As soon as he stepped into the module with his hands upraised, he fell to the ground and pushed as hard as he could with his legs. Ransom bowled over two of the armed men as he went sliding across the entire length of the floor.
On the opposite edge of the room, Ransom slammed hard against the wall. There were gunshots and yelling. Ransom felt what seemed like a baseball bat hitting his left leg. He'd been shot. But he ignored the pain and took off running.
With barely a thought, he ran to the nearest hallway. He knew exactly where he was going. Ransom had studied the telepresence construct of the module very well. Instead of running down the hallway, he jumped, fifteen yards in a single bound. He had to grab onto the door-frame in order to stop his momentum.
He slammed the door shut and locked it right before the masked men reached the other side. A bullet tore a hole through the door. He heard someone yell, "No!" There was some hurried discussion. Then he heard footsteps moving away from the door.

Ransom shook violently. he knew he had little time. He quickly glanced around the room. He was inside the bioreactor hall. Huge tanks that were used to culture and multiply living cells were lined up against the wall on either side of him. But the hall had been demolished. The tanks were cracked and ripped open. Equipment had been smashed. The floor was covered in the slippery nutrient solution that was used to bathe the cells in the bioreactors. Up on the far wall was a graffitoed message left by the vandals.

JESUS WEEPS FOR THE UNBORN

Ransom spoke into his wrist-server. "Server, contact Security."
"Mr Archer, where are you? Are you okay?" said a disembodied voice.
"I'm in the Seventh Day module, the bioreactor room. I think I've been shot. But I feel okay. I'm hiding from men with guns."
"The assailants have taken control of that entire module." said the voice. "They've somehow taken out all the sensors and cameras on the interior of the module. We're using heat sensors from the exterior to track the movement of bodies around the module. But other than that, we are totally blind."
Ransom reached into his pocket, pulled out his Seventh Day security badge, and pinned it to his shirt. "I have a camera and heat sensor embedded in my badge. I also have a camera in my wristwatch. Are you getting this?"
"Yes, excellent! I see they've done a lot of damage to that room."
"Are you sending people over here?"
"Uh... no. We're talking with the terrorists now. They're holding seventeen people hostage. They claim that they are still alive, but they will start killing them if we move on the module. Mr Archer, I suggest that you continue to hide or escape if you can."
Ransom heard footsteps and talking outside the door. "I gotta move." He said. He saw a ceiling grate at the furthest end of the hall. He ran and jumped, twenty-five feet into the air. He grabbed onto the grate and opened it, stuffed himself into the air duct, and closed it behind him. As he moved he heard from behind a loud crack which must've obviously been the door being rammed open.

Ransom moved through the ducts. He navigated his way to the back end of the module. Intensive study of the module in telepresence allowed him to know where he was going in the dark metal tube. He exited the duct system and found himself in the loading dock.
He saw how the terrorists were able to get to Kilgore Station. Through a window he saw a small sized trans-orbital craft, the kind used to service satellites.
Just steps away from freedom, Ransom heard the men approaching. He quickly decided to hide. He found an alcove covered by a recycling bin positioned underneath an emergency maintenance exit.
Three of the four men had returned to their vessel for some reason. From his hiding place he could see the men talking. He could hear their voices. He could make out identifying features like height and weight. He pointed his wristwatch at them, so that the Kilgore Security people could see them too. He sat perfectly still and waited.

It felt like hours, but according to his wristwatch barely fifty-five minutes had passed. His life had flashed before his eyes. The last year played out like a movie. For Ransom, it was plenty of time to think about his situation. He thought about it so much, he couldn't stop thinking about it, even though he desperately wanted to.
He felt his left leg where he had been shot. No hole, no blood, just pain and tenderness. They must have hit him with a rubber bullet or a bean bag or something. He remembered the graffiti message. The security guy had called them terrorists. They weren't thieves. They were religious fundamentalist terrorists . They weren't here to steal. They were here to cause terror.
But they did want Beatrice. And they were hesitant to kill to get it. Hesitant so far, that is.
Dr Dacron was right about his mission being a dangerous one. But he was wrong about where that danger was coming from. Thieves are troublesome. But only terrorist extremists are willing to go to the ends of the Earth and beyond to achieve their goals. Only a mixture of piety and insanity would make a person want to do God's job for Him, to go to any extreme to prove that their graven image is the one true God.

Ransom was afraid. There was something about these terrorists. Something important that stuck in his mind and wouldn't let go. Something dark that hinted of despair.
When the terrorists were in the room before Ransom did the first thing he was taught to do when trained as a security officer. He watched them, observant of anything that could be used for identification. He listened to their voices. Recorded them on his wrist-server. Two of the men were American, possibly from Southern states. One of the men sounded Arabic or Middle Eastern. Ransom was impressed. It appeared that their underground militia was international. When the fourth terrorist arrived, he spoke with a European accent, British. He sounded exactly like Jaime's father, the little crippled boy he knew.
He tried to look for any possible physical feature that could be used for identification. These guys knew what they were doing. They wore masks and latex gloves. But Ransom saw that one of them made a mistake that could possibly help investigators later on. He had a finger amputation on his left hand. If he had been smart, he would have used a fake finger under his glove to hide such a distinguishing injury. It was the same finger that Jamie's father was missing...
Oh, Hell.
It's him. It's Matthew Bradford, Jaime's father. He has become a terrorist.

The realization hit Ransom like a brick to the back of the head. He was dizzy. But he recovered quickly. This doesn't change the mission, he thought. He still needs to get out and get Beatrice to safety. The terrorists would leave empty handed. They would return to Earth to be eventually captured and sent to jail.
But what if they aren't captured? What if nobody can find them?
How many men in the world are English, missing that exact same finger, and are outspoken against abortion. Matthew will be found and he will lead to the rest of the terrorists.
How do you know? There are people all over the world willing to hide these guys. And modern stem cell therapy can replace a finger. Surgery can make you look like a completely different person. If whoever is backing these terrorists is wealthy enough to fund a trip to space, he can certainly afford a new finger. A terrorist could get away scot free. You have the ability to stop him.
It's not such a big deal. People get off on shit all the time. They haven't killed anyone.
They stole, they vandalized, they threatened people with guns, they shot you with a weapon that did have a small chance of killing you if it hit you just right. And what about the explosion? How much of a push will it take to turn these men into murderers?
Beatrice can help his son.
It might. Or it might not. But if you let this man leave Kilgore, then Jaime will be returned to the care of a violent, terrible father. He will be taught a gospel of hate. Jesus to him will be an idol of rage and political power. He will lose his dignity. His faith will be supplanted with cynicism. He will learn no discipline, save for areas where it will aid his father's false religion. Decide now, which is worse, A crippled body, or a deformed soul?
Why is God doing this to me? No one should have to choose between something that could save the world, and a single child.
A single child of infinite worth. You've always wanted to help people. You've always felt that that would give you purpose. Now you can help one person. Wouldn't that make it all worth it? What if your entire life depends on such a time as this? Make your choice. Don't deny your purpose.

Instantly, an idea coalesced in Ransoms mind, a plan to stop the terror. Would it work?
Ransom looked up at the escape hatch above his head. He knew that it wasn't too late, he still had time to escape.
But no. He had already made his choice