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 Bahzim.
"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 Concepcion. "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."
Concepcion 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 Bahzim.
"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 Bahzim.
"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 Bahzim.
"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 Bahzim. "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."
Bahzim shook his head. "I can't let you do that, Toron."
"My daughter is out there, Bahzim. 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."
Bahzim 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."
Bahzim 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 Bahzim. "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."
Bahzim 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 Bahzim, "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."
Bahzim shook his head again. "Those batteries don't c
arry 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 Bahzim. "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 Bahzim 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, Concepcion?" Bahzim asked.
"Every word," said Concepcion, 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.
He began typing in the command to fly forward when it occurred to him that the LUG program was based on the quickship having a full load of mined metal, meaning a lot more mass. Victor stopped himself. Had he entered the command, he realized, he might had rocketed himself into oblivion. Brilliant, Victor. He shook his head, annoyed with himself for being so careless, then adjusted the program and typed in the first command. The propulsion pushed him forward gently, much to his relief. He flew away from the ship and did a wide loop that brought him eventually back to the airlock in what he hoped was a display of some piloting proficiency.
Father, Bahzim, and Toron flew out to the quickship, carrying larger batteries and rescue equipment. It meant they had agreed to try it. Father plugged an audio cable from his helmet to Victor's, while Bahzim anchored the equipment in the cargo hold. Victor then hardwired portable power supplies into Father's and Toron's suits, and soon everyone was settled.
"That wasn't the best flying I've seen, Vico," said Bahzim, "but it should be good enough for our purposes." He put a hand on the spare air canisters. "You've got about eight hours of air, but I want you back here in three. The less time you spend out there the better. The wreckage is unstable and drifting. This ship is small. It can't withstand a collision. Give yourself a wide berth wherever you go. As for communication, Concepcion still has us on radio silence in case the pod can detect radio. Use the helmet-to-helmet audio cables to speak to each other, but keep your radios on just in case. Above all, be safe. Don't take risks. If all of you don't agree that something is safe, don't do it. Even to save another survivor. Your first priority is your own safety. Get back here alive."
Bahzim did a quick final inspection of all cables, canisters, and equipment, then he wished them well and flew back to the airlock.
Toron looked at Victor and Father. "Thank you," he said. "For doing this, for coming with me."
"We may not find anyone," said Father.
"We will have tried," said Toron. "I couldn't live with myself if I didn't at least do that."
"Take us out, Vico," said Father. "Nice and slow."
Victor entered the command, and the ship pulled away, heading in the direction El Cavador was pointed. After patrolling for a while, Toron spotted a large piece of wreckage a few kilometers below and ahead of them. Victor saw it and entered what he hoped would be the right commands to maneuver the quickship alongside the wreckage. He had to judge the distance and angle of approach by sight alone, however, and his first attempt was way off, far beyond the reach of their safety cables. He apologized, circled wide, and tried a second approach. This time he fired retros too late and overshot.
"I thought you said you could fly this," said Toron.
"He's doing the best he can," said Father. "No one's done this before."
Victor entered another series of commands and this time judged it right, coming alongside the wreck within ten meters of an accessible hatch.
"Toron and I will check it out," Father said to Victor. "You stay put and watch for collisions. Don't let anything hit the quickship, or we're all in trouble." Father detached the audio cable that connected him to Victor then flew down to the wreck, carrying a load of gear. Toron followed, and once they landed, they spread the bubble over the hatch, detached their safety cables, climbed under the bubble with the gear, then pulled the ripcord. The bubble inflated and sealed, and the hatch opened easily. Father and Toron then flew inside and disappeared from view.
Five minutes passed. Then ten. At fifteen minutes, Victor began to worry. At twenty-five, he was near panicked. Something had gone wrong. They shouldn't be taking this long.
Victor considered calling Father on the radio, even though he'd be disobeying orders and possibly putting the family at risk, but then he thought better of it. Father had asked him to wait, and so he would. Wait an
d pray.
*
Edimar was in the crow's nest on El Cavador, trying not to burst into tears. The data streaming through her display goggles from the Eye was so constant and in such volume that Edimar was beyond overwhelmed. Column after column of nonstop digits, all demanding to be analyzed immediately and marked EXTREMELY URGENT.
The problem was the debris. There were thousands of pieces of wreckage all around the ship, and since all of them were drifting through space and relatively close, the Eye had mistakenly labeled each piece of debris, however small, as a possible collision threat. And once an object was so tagged, the Eye's programming insisted that the Eye track its movements. This meant the Eye was now tracking thousands of objects at once and sending all of that data in a deluge of information directly to Edimar's goggles.
It was too much. And worse still, it was inaccurate. Of the thousands of objects the Eye currently considered a threat, only a handful were truly dangerous. It meant the real threats, the objects that Edimar should be tracking, were being lost in a sea of unnecessary alerts.
She blinked open a line to Concepcion at the bridge. "I can't do it," said Edimar. "I need help."
"What's wrong?" said Concepcion.
"It's too much. I can't process all the data the Eye is sending me. You've got to get my father back up here. I can't chew through the information as fast as he can. I'm too slow."
"You're father left on a quickship to look for more survivors," said Concepcion.
"Quickship? I didn't think we could fly those."
"Apparently Victor can. Tell me what you need."
"Four clones of my father." She explained as quickly as she could how the Eye was giving her too much information and leaving her blind to immediate threats.
"I'm sending Dreo your way," said Concepcion. "He might be able to tweak the Eye's programming. Rena and Mono will come as well and help however you need them. In the meantime, I'll put spotters at every window to look out for drifting debris. Don't worry. We'll figure this out."
"Thank you," said Edimar, and ended the call.
She felt so relieved that she could no longer hold back the tears. She removed her goggles, covered her face with her hands, and sobbed. Some of her tears were for the Eye and all the stupid pent-up frustration it had caused, but most of them were for Alejandra. Her sister. Jandita. Her best friend. The only person with whom she had ever been able to talk to about Father's temper or wearing a bra or what it would be like to get zogged one day, things she could never bring herself to discuss with Mother. And now Alejandra was out there. Gone perhaps. And Edimar would never speak with her again.