They flew for eight more hours, but by the time they reached the site Victor knew what they would find. The wreckage from the four ships was a scattered trail of scorched debris at least five kilometers wide.
CHAPTER 10
Wreckage
Victor flew down to the lockers in the cargo bay, moving fast. He landed, threw open his locker, grabbed his pressure suit, and quickly began putting it on. There were miners all around him doing the same, stepping into suits, grabbing rescue equipment: winch hooks, coiled cable, medical pouches, hydraulic spreaders, and shears. Victor's mind was racing. The Italians were dead. The pod had attacked, and the Italians were dead. Janda. No, he wouldn't think it. He wouldn't even consider the idea. She wasn't dead. They were putting together a search party. They would look for survivors. There were big pieces of wreckage out there. Some would have people inside them. Janda would be one of them. Shaken perhaps, frightened even, an emotional wreck, but alive.
How long ago had the pod left? Eighteen hours? That was too long to go without fresh oxygen. If there were survivors, they would have to have masks, with plenty of spare canisters of oxygen. Most canisters held up to forty-five minutes of air, but maybe the Italians had canisters that held more. It was possible. Plus there would be air in whatever room the survivors had sealed themselves up in. And that's what survivors would do. They'd seal themselves off in a room somewhere that hadn't been breached and wait for rescue. The Italians were smart. Surely they had rehearsed for emergencies like this. Surely they had emergency gear throughout the ship. They would be prepared. They would have a stockpile of canisters and masks. Both for adults and for children.
But air wasn't the only problem, Victor told himself. They would need heat as well. Without battery heaters or warmer blocks or some other emergency heat source to keep out the cold, survivors would freeze to death. It wouldn't take long. The cold this far out was relentless. It made Victor nervous. That was too many variables. If the survivors had sealed themselves off, and if there were no breaches, and if they had masks and canisters to spare, and if they had a heat source, then maybe they had a shot.
The locker beside Victor opened abruptly, startling him. It was Father, who grabbed his own pressure suit and hurriedly climbed into it.
"What are someone's chances after eighteen hours?" asked Victor. "Seriously."
"This could have happened more than eighteen hours ago," said Father. "The pod was here for twelve hours. It might have attacked when it got here instead of immediately before it left. In which case we're thirty hours in, not eighteen."
Victor had considered this, but he said nothing. Thirty hours was too long. That drastically reduced the likelihood of them finding anyone alive, and he wasn't going to accept that as a possibility. Besides, it didn't seem likely anyway. Why would the pod stay after it attacked? To scan for life? To make certain the job was done? No, it seemed more plausible that it had tried to communicate or observe or scan. And when those efforts had ended or failed, it had attacked and run.
Father closed his locker and faced Victor. "You sure you're up for this, Vico?"
Victor understood what he was asking. There would be bodies. Death. Women. Children. It would be awful.
"You've never seen something like this," said Father. "And I would rather you never did. It's worse than you can imagine."
"I can help you, Father. In ways none of these miners can."
Father hesitated then nodded. "If you change your mind, if you need to come back, no one will think less of you."
"When I come back inside, Father, it will be with you and with survivors."
Father nodded again.
Bahzim, who had replaced Marco as chief miner, was calmly shouting orders from the airlock entrance. "Have two people check your suit and lifeline inside the airlock. Two. Head to toe. Every seam. Do not rush inspections. The debris outside will be jagged and sharp and will puncture your suit or your line. Keep your line slack to a minimum. Stay with your partner. Segundo, I want you and Vico on saws."
Father nodded.
Victor went to the equipment cage and took down the rotary saws. They were dangerous tools outside since they could so easily slice suits and lines, but the blades had good guards and Victor and Father had experience using them. Victor carried them to the airlock.
Toron entered from the corridor, flew down to the airlock, and faced Bahzim. "I'm coming with you."
"This is for experienced walkers only, Toron. I'm sorry."
"I know how to spacewalk, Bahzim."
"You don't have enough hours, Toron. If the sky was clear, I wouldn't have any issue, but there's a lot of debris out there. Anything could happen."
"My daughter is out there."
Bahzim hesitated.
"There's one lifeline left," said Toron. "I just counted. You have room for one more person."
"He can come with me and Vico," said Father. "We'll need someone to hold our lines clear while we work the saws."
Bahzim looked unsure. "You don't have a suit, Toron."
"He can wear Marco's," Victor said. "They're about the same height."
Bahzim considered this then sighed. "Hurry. I'm closing this hatch in two minutes."
Toron nodded his thanks to Father and Victor then quickly changed into Marco's suit.
They hurried into the airlock, and Bahzim sealed the hatch behind them. Everyone unspooled a lifeline from the racks along the wall and attached it to the back of his partner's suit. Then came the helmets. Bahzim typed in the all-clear, and fresh air and heat filled Victor's suit. Everyone took a moment to inspect the suits and lifelines of those around them. When all was clear, Bahzim punched in another command, and Victor's HUD blinked on. Live video of the wreckage outside appeared on Victor's display, taken from the ship's cameras. El Cavador's spotlights cut through the darkness, lighting momentarily on a piece of wreckage, as if considering it, judging by its size and shape if it were a likely candidate for survivors. Apparently it wasn't. The lights moved on. Victor's heart sank. There was so much debris. So much destruction. How could he possibly find Janda in all this?
The first bodies appeared shortly thereafter. Two of them. Men. Stiff with death. The spotlights rested on them, but the men were thankfully at such a distance that Victor couldn't make out their faces. The lights moved on.
A few minutes later the ship came upon a large piece of wreckage. El Cavador's retrorockets fired, and the ship slowed and then stopped alongside the wreckage.
"Listen up," said Bahzim. "We're opening the doors. First ones out are Chepe and Pitoso. They'll do a quick scan while the rest of us hang tight. If they detect something, the rest of us go in."
The wide bay doors opened, and what had been video became a reality. The wreckage in front of them was a mangled heap of destruction: bent girders, severed conduit, twisted pipes, torn foam insulation, crunched deck and hull plates. It looked as if it had been ripped from the ship instead of cleanly cut away by a laser. Victor searched for markings on the hull that might identify it as Vesuvio, Janda's ship, but there were none. Bahzim gave the order, and Chepe and Pitoso were out in an instant, flying down to the wreck and moving fast.
They flew to the hull side of the wreck where the surface was smooth and there were fewer protrusions that might snag or cut their suits. There were several windows, and Chepe went to those first, shining his helmet lights inside. The first few windows were quick looks, but at the fourth window they stopped. "There are people inside," said Chepe.
Victor's heart leaped.
"But they're not moving," said Chepe. "I don't think they're alive. Some are wearing masks, but it looks like they died from anoxia. They must have survived the attack, though. I see emergency heaters set up in the room. We just didn't get here in time."
"Is Alejandra with them?" asked Toron. "Do you see Alejandra?"
"It's hard to see faces through the masks," said Chepe. "And many of them are turned away from me. Plus the window's small. I can't see the w
hole room, especially around the corners."
"Maybe they're not dead," said Toron. "They could be unconscious. Maybe we could revive them."
Isabella's voice came on the line. "Chepe, it's Isabella. I'm at the helm. Can you send your helmet vid feed over the line?"
The video from Chepe's helmet appeared on Victor's HUD. Now everyone saw what Chepe saw. There were bodies drifting in a dark space. The room--what Victor could see of it--looked like barracks, with hammocks and storage compartments for clothes and personal items. Glow rods in the room offered some light, but they had dimmed to almost nothing. Chepe's helmet lights illuminated a few faces, and Victor saw at once that there was no reviving these people. Some had eyes open, staring into nothing, the look of death forever frozen on their faces. Men. Women. A young child. Victor recognized a few of them from the week the Italians had spent with them. That woman there had been holding an infant back on El Cavador during one of the feasts--Victor distinctly remembered--but she held no infant now. And that man, he had sung with a few other men during that same feast, a song that had left them all laughing.
"Bang on the hatch," said Isabella. "See if anyone responds. Watch for movement."
Chepe took a tool from his pouch and banged it hard against the hatch. Victor watched. Chepe's lights swept the room through the glass, pausing at each person. He banged again. A third time. A fourth. No one moved.
Janda wasn't among them. Victor was sure of it. Even those who were turned away, whose faces he could not see, he knew the size and shape of her body enough to know she wasn't here.
"We could put a bubble over the hatch and send in Chepe to run vitals on those people," said Isabella. "But that's going to take time, and right now every second counts."
A bubble was a small inflatable dome that could be hermetically sealed over an external hatch. If Chepe was inside the bubble when it inflated and sealed over the hatch, then he could open the hatch and go inside without exposing the room beyond to the vacuum of space. Bubbles could be dangerous, though, as they required you to momentarily detach your lifeline to climb inside. The lifeline was attached to a valve on the bubble's exterior. This fed to an extendable lifeline inside the bubble, which restored air and power to the suit wearer. But detaching your lifeline, even momentarily was a risk.
"I'd say it's highly unlikely we'll find anyone alive in there," said Isabella. "I suggest we press on and look for signs of life."
"Agreed," said Concepcion. "Return to the ship. Let's keep moving."
"We're just leaving them there?" said Toron.
"There's nothing we can do for them, Toron," said Concepcion. "But there may be others we can reach in time."
Victor felt hopeless then. These people had survived the attack. All the factors that Victor had considered critical for survival had been met. And yet all of them were gone. He pictured them alive, huddled around a heater, clinging to each other, speaking words of comfort. How long had they lasted? Twelve hours? Fifteen? Had they known El Cavador was coming? Had they believed rescue was imminent? Or did they think themselves all alone, waiting out the inevitable?
Victor looked at Toron beside him and saw that Father had a hand on Toron's shoulder, comforting him. Toron looked pale, even in the low light of the cargo bay.
"They had masks and heaters," said Father. "That's a good sign, Toron. It means there's equipment out there."
"Little good it did them," said Toron.
Chepe and Pitoso landed back in the airlock, and the ship moved on. The bay doors remained open as they continued to patrol through the destruction. Twice more they stopped, and twice more Chepe and Pitoso flew out to investigate. One of the wrecks was empty. The other had a massive hole in the back that hadn't been visible until Chepe and Pitoso went in for a closer look. There were no signs of survivors.
The ship moved on. As they continued patrolling they passed more bodies. Most were men. But there were women, too. And children. One burned terribly. Victor turned away.
Once, a corpse floated uncomfortably close to the open airlock, right there in front of them. It was a man. A boy, really. No more than twenty. He could have been a suitor for Janda if he wasn't married already. His eyes were--thankfully--closed. The miners nearest the edge could have reached out and touched him, and for a horrific moment Victor thought the body might float inside. But the ship moved on, and the body slipped past.
No one spoke. Several of the miners glanced back at Toron to see how he was taking it, the compassion evident on their faces. Toron never said a word, and as the minutes stretched into an hour, Victor's hope began to dissolve. There was too much wreckage. They had come too late. Nineteen hours was far too long. Perhaps if they hadn't stopped to install the pebble-killers or scatter Marco's ashes, if they had accelerated then instead of decelerating, maybe they could have saved someone; maybe they could have stopped this whole thing from happening.
No, they couldn't have arrived before the attack. Even if they had pushed themselves and never slowed. And what good would it have done if they had been here? They'd be just as dead as everyone else.
A large piece of wreckage came along the ship. The biggest piece yet. El Cavador's retros fired, and the ship slowed. Victor couldn't imagine how anyone could be alive inside. The whole structure was twisted, not just the ends. And none of the sides were smooth with hull plating, suggesting that it had come from somewhere deep inside a ship.
Approaching it would be difficult. Sharp twisted beams and other jagged structural pieces protruded from all sides in a random fashion, like a crushed metal can wrapped in iron thorns. Chepe and Pitoso flew down cautiously, circling the wreckage from a distance. "I see a hatch," said Chepe. "It's solid. No windows."
"Can you get close enough to bang on it?" asked Bahzim.
Victor watched Chepe's approach via the man's vid feed. Chepe drifted to the hatch slowly, steering clear of the jagged girders and beams.
"Watch his line, Pitoso," said Bahzim.
Chepe settled on the hull beside the hatch. "The space around the hatch looks smooth," he said. "We could get a bubble around it if we needed." He banged on the hatch, then pressed his hand against the metal. He wouldn't hear a knock response from anyone inside, but he would feel the vibration of it. Chepe waited a full minute and knocked again. After a pause, "I don't feel anything."
The wreckage was drifting and rotating. One of the jagged beams was coming close to Chepe's lifeline. "Back off," said Bahzim. "She's spinning."
Chepe and Pitoso pushed off from the wreckage and floated a short distance away as the wreckage slowly spun in front of them. The far side of it, which hadn't been visible before, turned into view of the cargo bay. It was a mess of twisted channel beams and girder framework, bent and mangled together, worse even than the other sides. But through that, beyond the web of distorted metal, was a corridor, maybe ten meters deep, like a shallow cave, with the entrance to it pinched half closed. Victor zoomed in with his visor and strained to see through all the obstructions, trying to see down into the corridor.
Then he saw it.
A flicker of light. A movement. There was a hatch at the end of the corridor with a small circular window in the center. And in that window there was a light. A glow rod. Wiggling in someone's hand. "There's somebody inside!" Victor shouted, and before he knew what he was doing, he had pushed his way to the end of the airlock and jumped out into space.
"Vico, wait," said Bahzim.
But Victor wasn't waiting. He had seen someone. Alive. "There's someone down there." He hit the trigger on his thumb, and the propulsion pushed him toward the corridor entrance. He jinked left, avoiding a protruding beam, then jinked right avoiding another.
"Slow down," said Father.
Victor rotated his body, got his feet under him, and slowed. He landed expertly atop the bars and metal that bent across and blocked the corridor. He stepped to the side, squatted down, and looked through a hole in the web of metal down into the corridor, as if peering down a
well. He could see him clearly now. A man. The circle in the hatch was smaller than the man's face, but he was clearly alive and looked desperate. He wasn't wearing a mask, either, meaning he had none, or the canisters had run out. Victor zoomed in, switched on his helmet vid, and blinked out the command to send the feed to everyone else.
The reaction was immediate. Bahzim started giving commands. "All right. Listen up. I want cables on this wreckage. Moor it to us. Lock it down. I don't want it spinning. Segundo, I want you and Vico cutting away that debris at that entrance. I want the other shears at the hatch Chepe found. We might be able to reach survivors through there. Chepe and Pitoso, circle the wreckage another time and look for another way inside. Nando, I want you with a board and marker down there with Segundo and Vico communicating with whoever's inside. I want to know how many are alive and what their status is."
Father and Toron gingerly landed beside Victor, carrying the saws and hydraulic shears.
"He must have heard Chepe knocking," said Victor. "There might be other people in there."
"And we're going to get them out," said Father, handing a saw to Victor. "Try the saw first. If it gives you problems, go with the shears. Let's cut these channel beams away first." He indicated the ones Victor had avoided. "We need a clear path in and out of here."
Victor wanted to say something to the man at the hatch. "We're here. We're going to get you out. You're going to live." But no one could reach the hatch yet with all the obstructions in the way, and Victor had no means of communicating with the man anyway. Father took the beam on the left, Victor the one on the right. Victor fired up his saw. The blade spun.