Published:
March 26, 2023
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Bradenton's stomach quivered on the shuttle ride up. He calculated the causes were an even mixture: 33 percent fear, 33 percent excitement and 33 percent the unusual sensation of his stomach contents swirling around in zero gravity. That left a 1 percent margin of error for any one of those feelings to gain the upper hand. Needless to say, it was Bradenton's first trip into space. He figured he was the only certified accountant in orbit.
"Welcome to LEO Station," said a woman in a blue smock as he stepped unsteadily off the shuttle. It was the only courteous greeting he received from the station's skeleton crew.
Mr. Corbin, LEO's director of operations, didn't even get up from his desk. He told Bradenton in no uncertain terms that sending a number cruncher here was foolhardy and onerous. If the shareholders back on Earth wanted an audit, they were welcome to it. But the director was on a tight schedule and nominated his assistant to work with Bradenton.
LEO Station was still six months from completion. It had taken three of the largest corporations on Earth and the cooperation of two political administrations to make this happen. The total cost was nearing $390 billion. So no surprise at least some of the shareholders involved wanted a detailed accounting.
Bradenton wedged himself behind a desk in a more-cramped-than-usual office and started poring over electronic files. Everything more or less matched what he had seen already. But firsthand inspection was essential. After three days, he had questions.
He took another meeting with Corbin and handed over his notes.
"I'm seeing a lot of overruns here. But the materials cost is actually coming in lower than estimates," said Bradenton, tapping the appropriate columns on his datapad.
Corbin sighed. The Chinese statue of a lion guarding his desk heightened the executive's intimidating aura. "Mr. Bradenton. This is a unique project. The first privately funded space station in Low Earth Orbit. We've had to adjust costs on an almost daily basis. If the contractor estimates from four years ago are off, we should chalk that up to the fact that this grand work is simply beyond anyone's previous field of expertise."
The accountant's lips thinned. Corbin dismissed him with a wave.
Bradenton slept fitfully that night. The faint hum in the walls of the space station made him anxious. Peering out the windows, looking down on the swelling curve of the blue planet below, gave him vertigo. He didn't belong here.
The next day, stuffed behind his tiny desk, he was determined to write up his report, point out any inconsistent numbers and get his feet back on terra firma.
But the more he looked, the more he thought. The breakdowns just weren't making sense. There were entire subcategories of expenses on Earth that didn't correspond to anything up here. He decided to pay a visit to the head of the engineering crew, Edward Petrowski.
He took a lift to the outer level of the centripetal ring and emerged into a skeletal framework of metal studs.
Bradenton had visited dozens of construction sites but always felt ill at ease around blue collar workers. Although the men and women putting the finishing touches on LEO were expert technicians, decked out in gleaming white jumpsuits and juggling scores of advanced engineering degrees among them, they still seemed burly and intimidating to Bradenton. Next to them he felt like a nerd with a pocket calculator.
He made his way his way past the disinterested construction workers to some of the half-finished pods. He tapped at the plating. It was T-3 carbon fiber. Didn't the plans specify T-7? Bradenton wandered around until he found Petrowski's makeshift office. He spotted a datapad and fired it up. He was paging through blueprints when Petrowski appeared.
"What the hell are you doing with my equipment?" bellowed the supervisor.
Startled, Bradenton almost dropped the pad. "I ... I was looking for the architectural specifications for this section. I have some questions.”
“You're that accountant,” said Petrowski, sliding the datapad from Bradenton's grip. “This is a hard-hat area. No one other than engineering crew allowed. Get back up to administration before you get hurt.”
The next day, Bradenton tried to communicate with his office using the external data relay satellite system. But comms were down. Something was not adding up.
On a hunch, the accountant made his way to the mid level of the ring to check out some finished pods earmarked for luxury hotel suites. Lighting was dim, but he found his way inside one of the rooms. His critical gaze skimmed the space and settled on a strip of mylar tape holding two sections of the thin, wooden wall veneer together. He pulled at the tape, and the wood sections bowed out.
From the looks of it, this entire space station had been constructed using substandard materials. Billions of dollars were unaccounted for. The project was potentially unsafe. Someone was responsible.
Bradenton went looking for Petrowski down in the construction zone, but one of the engineers told him the supervisor had ridden the morning shuttle back to Earth to supervise the next supply shipment.
Frustrated, he made his way back to Corbin's office. The hallways of the station seemed strangely quiet.
Corbin's assistant informed him that the director had also left on the shuttle. She seemed unsure when he would return.
Bradenton shoved his datapad under her face. "But I've got evidence that ..."
That's when he heard it. A deep, booming sound. Too big for any of the tiny positioning thrusters spread around the ring. It was the main reboost engine exploding—the truncated reverberation of its death choked off by the vacuum of space.
The station lurched. Bradenton felt his feet drift off the thinly carpeted floor. The contents of his stomach started to float. Evidence of Corbin and Petrowski's crimes would soon burn up in reentry.
The accountant wondered if he had enough time to calculate the orbital decay.

Copyright 2023 - SFS Publishing LLC
Numbers Man
He prayed he was wrong
Devin D. O'Leary

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