Earth Unaware (First Formic War) (26 page)

“I think it’s working,” said Victor. But of course no one heard him.

He noticed then that his fingers and feet were cold. His visor was fogging up. The air in his suit was stale. He felt pressure applied to his back, and his suit came to life. Air poured in. Heat. His HUD flickered on. Only it wasn’t
his
HUD. All the data boxes were positioned in all the wrong places. He turned. Toron was behind him; he had given Victor his lifeline. Bahzím’s voice said, “The air’s going through, Victor. He opened the valve. Good work.”

“Victor, your father has the other pipe ready,” said Nando. “Send someone over here to open this valve.”

Victor turned back to the window. Several people had mustered the strength to gather at the hatch, breathing the fresh air. Victor grabbed the board and wrote, then banged on the hatch. A young but haggard woman came to the window, read Victor’s note, and nodded, comprehending. She looked to where Victor was pointing, saw the valve on the far wall, and nodded again. She seemed weak, drained of life, but somehow she pushed off the floor and drifted over to the valve. She put her hand on it then turned. At first Victor didn’t think she had the strength to turn it, but she persisted, and the valve opened wide. Air rushed through the valve, blowing the woman’s hair to the side. She inhaled deep, eyes closed a moment, then burst into sobs, burying her face in her hands—whether from relief at having survived or from grief for those who hadn’t, Victor could only guess.

“Toron will share his line with you until you’re both back on the ship,” said Bahzím. “I want you back in the airlock. No one outside without a lifeline.”

“How are we getting these people out?” Victor asked.

“We’ve been discussing that. The docking tube is too wide to get down that corridor and seal around the hatch. Do you think we could get a bubble over that hatch? Maybe we could fill a bubble with suits. Then they open the hatch, suit up, and quickly fly up to us.”

Victor inspected the wall around the hatch. “It’s too narrow in here. And even if we get the spreaders down in here, the wall is too damaged to hold a seal. What if we pull the wreckage into the airlock? Then we fill the space with air and they open the hatch and walk out.”

“The wreck’s way too big,” said Bahzím.

“Then we cut it down with one of the PKs, slice away all the rooms that are compromised and keep only the room with survivors. If we shave enough away, it might be small enough to squeeze inside.”

“Laser cutting around these people?” said Concepción. “That’s extremely dangerous.”

“Bulo’s a good cutter,” said Victor. “He could sign his name on a pebble if he wanted to.”

“I could do it,” said Bulo, who was listening on the line. “If the ship is holding steady, if we anchor the wreckage so it doesn’t move. I can slice off the deadweight easy.”

Concepción asked, “Segundo, what do you think?”

“I don’t know of a better option,” said Father. “The downside is time. Anchoring and cutting and moving them inside. That all will take a lot of time. I’m guessing five or six hours at the least. And there might be more survivors out there who need immediate help. We’d be essentially ending the search.”

Victor was watching Toron, who was at the hatch window with a light board. He wrote something that Victor couldn’t see and showed it to the man on the other side of the glass. The man read the board then shook his head. Toron released the board and turned away from the hatch. The board drifted away and Victor saw the single-word question written there: “Alejandra?”

CHAPTER 11

Quickship

Victor plugged the lifeline back into Toron before the two of them left the wreckage. Toron didn’t object or play hero. He understood that if they were both going to arrive safely back at the airlock, they needed to share the line. Toron nodded his thanks to Victor, but Victor could tell Toron’s mind was elsewhere. All hope of finding Janda alive here had shattered, and Toron’s face showed only despair.

It almost relieved Victor that he and Toron couldn’t communicate since they were sharing a line. What would Victor say? It’s my fault that Janda’s here? It’s my fault she may be dead? It wouldn’t be untrue. If not for Victor, the Council would never have sent Janda away. She’d be on El Cavador. Safe and alive.

He flew up out of the corridor of the wreckage, leading the way, with Toron behind him. Since Victor couldn’t call for help if he needed it, it made sense for him to be up front where Toron could see him. Most of the jagged protrusions around the entrance to the corridor had been cut away, but it surprised Victor to see that many still remained. It had been dangerous and reckless of him to fly down here as quickly as he had. But he had been thinking of Janda then. He had been clinging to the hope that she was here, inside, alive, ready for rescue. Now he knew she wasn’t.

A hand grabbed Victor’s shoulder. It was Toron, already plugging the lifeline into Victor’s back. Toron seemed agitated. He flew forward in a rush toward the ship, and Victor followed. The chatter in Victor’s helmet continued.

“We don’t have a choice, Toron,” said Bahzím.

“It’s not Toron anymore,” said Victor. “It’s Victor. He just gave me the line. What’s going on?”

“He objects to suspending the search for more survivors to rescue the people trapped inside,” said Father. “He says there might be a hundred people out there who need rescuing.”

“He’s right,” said Victor. “There might be.”

“Unlikely,” said Bahzím.

“But possible,” said Father.

Toron landed back in the airlock. Victor was right behind him. Father and Nando were coming in as well, the two of them sharing a lifeline also. The airlock was busy with activity. A team of miners was working the big winches, pulling in the mooring cables they had already anchored to the wreckage. The intent was to bring the wreck close to a PK to be extremely precise with the cuts.

There was a limited supply of the longer lifelines, but there were several short lines for working here in the airlock. Toron grabbed one from the wall, plugged it into his back, and approached Bahzím.

“I want to go back out there,” he said. “I’m not staying here while we cut these people free. I want to keep looking. Even if I go alone.”

“You can’t, Toron,” said Bahzím. “You can’t leave the ship without a lifeline.”

“I can plug the emergency regulator into my lifeline jack and connect air canisters. It’s been done before. That will give me all the air I need.”

“And what about heat? You’ll freeze to death.”

“I’ll carry one of the battery packs. That’ll give me enough heat and power for a few hours, at least.”

Bahzím shook his head. “I can’t let you do that, Toron.”

“My daughter is out there, Bahzím. Dead probably, but maybe alive. And as long as there is a chance of me finding her alive, as long as that is the slimmest of possibilities, I will not sit here and do nothing. If you want to stay and help these people, fine. That’s your choice. If it were up to me, we’d cut them loose now and look for Alejandra.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“The hell I don’t. And if it were your daughter you’d do the same.”

Father stepped over. “Think, Toron. Everyone here loves Alejandra. All of us want to keep looking, but we need to go about it safely. If you rush out there, there’s a good chance you’ll die. Too much can go wrong, and you know it. Think about Lola. She can’t lose a daughter and a husband.”

“Don’t talk like Alejandra is already dead,” said Toron. “We don’t know that.”

“All right,” said Father. “Let’s put family aside and think about this practically. You can’t carry that much equipment. You’d need a dozen canisters of air at least. Plus spare propulsion tanks. Plus the battery pack for power and heat. Plus rescue gear. Spreaders, shears, saws, the bubble. Are you going to carry all that?”

“If I have to.”

“You can’t,” said Father. “It’s too much for one person. It’s too much for
five
people to carry. But even if it weren’t, what would you do if you found someone? You can’t get them back to the ship.”

“I could keep them alive until you came for us.”

Bahzím sighed. “None of us wants to delay the search, Toron. But we can’t desert these people here. As soon as we cut away the other wreckage and get them inside, we can push on.”

“That will take five to six hours at least,” said Toron. “These people were minutes away from death. We barely reached them in time. If there are more out there, they won’t last five hours.”

Bahzím and Father exchanged glances. There was no arguing that the prospect of finding more survivors grew thinner by the minute.

Father sighed. “It wouldn’t work, Toron. Look at the debris out there. It extends for kilometers in every direction. You can’t cover that much ground in a propulsion pack.”

“He could take one of the quickships,” said Victor.

Everyone turned to Victor, who was standing off to the side, listening to the whole exchange.

“Quickships are cargo carriers, Vico,” said Bahzím. “They’re not made for carrying people.”

“Doesn’t mean a person can’t climb inside,” said Victor. “And there would be plenty of room for rescue gear and air canisters and batteries.”

Bahzím shook his head. “Wouldn’t work. Quickships are programmed to go directly to Luna.”

“Every quickship has two programs,” said Victor. “We only use the one that sends the ship to Luna, the one that operates the rockets, the one for long-range flight. The other one is the LUG program, the one Lunar Guidance uses when the quickship arrives at Luna. It overrides the first program and gently flies the quickship into port using the battery and a light propulsion rig. It doesn’t run on the rockets. We’ve never used it before because we’ve never had any need for it.”

“We’ve never used it,” said Bahzím, “because we can’t access it.”

“I can,” said Victor. “I’ve made repairs to quickships before. I’ve noodled around with the system. I know how to get to it and how to initiate it. We can fly it manually.”

Bahzím shook his head again. “Those batteries don’t carry a lot of juice, Vico. They’re made to fly the ship a short distance into port, not patrol for kilometers on end through a debris cloud. If the battery runs out while you’re cruising along, you won’t be able to fire the retros. You’ll sail on forever into oblivion. Besides, Toron has no idea how to fly one of these things.”

“He doesn’t have to fly it,” said Victor. “I will.”

They all stared at him.

“It wouldn’t be that difficult,” said Victor. “Simple, really. You know I could do it, Father. You’ve seen me tinker with the program. I wouldn’t even have to leave the ship. Toron could wear a cable harness anchored to the ship when he leaves to check out a wreck. That way, he’s not out there floating in nothing. He’s anchored to someone who could fly him back to El Cavador if something goes wrong. And the battery isn’t a problem either. I know how to monitor the power supply to ensure that we don’t use up all the power without leaving us enough juice to stop and return to the ship. I can do this.”

The men looked at one another.

Finally Father said, “I can’t let you go out there, Vico. It’s too dangerous. If anyone is flying that ship it’s me.”

“I know the system better than you do, Father. That’s no fault of yours. You had no reason to study what we don’t use. I did study it. It’s much safer if I fly it.”

“I’m sorry,” said Bahzím. “It’s not that I doubt your abilities, Vico. But we’ve never practiced this. And right now my job is to protect this family.”

“Alejandra
is
family,” said Victor. “And so is Faron. They may have left with the Italians, but they are still part of us.”

That gave Bahzím pause. He looked at Father, who still seemed unsure.

“At least let him try,” said Toron. “Let him show you he can fly it. Or let Segundo try. There’s nothing more the three of us can do for the survivors we’ve found. It’s in the miners’ hands now. If Victor can prove it’s possible and safe, you can’t deny me the chance to save my daughter.”

“Have you been listening to this, Concepción?” Bahzím asked.

“Every word,” said Concepción, who was still at the helm with the flight crew. “I can’t overrule Segundo’s decision,” she said. “Whether he allows Victor to go is his choice. But if there’s a way to find more survivors we should try it.”

There was a long pause as Father considered. “Two conditions,” he said. “Show me you can fly this thing. And I’m coming with you.”

*   *   *

The quickships were docked in a holding bay at the rear of the ship. Victor and Toron brought one outside, and Victor climbed into the space that would serve as a cockpit. He wired his handheld into the ship’s computer and located the Lunar Guidance program. Since the quickship was automated, there were no flight controls for Victor to steer with. Instead, he devised a way to enter flight commands directly into the program by typing them into his handheld. It would be a slow and precarious way to maneuver the ship since only one command could be entered at a time and it didn’t allow for quick reactions—he wouldn’t be able to jink or dive or spin like he did when flying with a propulsion pack. It would be more like flying a freighter: slow to turn and decelerate.

Even still, Victor was fairly confident he could fly it with at least enough accuracy to reach the larger pieces of wreckage. With more time, he would have installed shields against solar radiation as well as seats with safety harnesses. But there was no time, and as soon as he had strapped himself to the structure, he detached his lifeline and replaced it with an air regulator and oxygen canister. Getting power to his suit was trickier. Victor taped one of the smaller batteries to his belt and hardwired the power inputs directly into the suit. The lights on his HUD were noticeably dimmer, but he had enough heat to get by with, and the radio worked. When Toron saw that Victor was set, he flew back to the airlock with Victor’s detached lifeline and watched with the others.

It was then that Victor realized how alone he was. He was completely untethered from El Cavador. It was only moments ago that he had severed his own lifeline to rescue the survivors, but that hadn’t been a risk really. Toron had been right there beside him—a link and anchor to El Cavador had been only an arm’s length away. Now, for the first time in his life, El Cavador was beyond his immediate reach.