"Actually I was going to suggest that your ship stay out of the fight entirely," said Concepcion.
"Why?" asked Lem.
"One of us needs to stay behind," said Concepcion. "The intelligence we have is too important to die with us. We sent one of our crewmen to Luna with much of this intel, but we have no way of knowing if he'll arrive alive or if anyone will take him seriously. If this attack fails, someone needs to communicate everything we know with Earth. I suggest that be your ship, Captain Doashang. You can record everything from a distance. We can load all of the women and children from our ship onto yours prior to the attack in the event that something happens to us."
"I agree," said Lem. "Your ship is the smallest and least armored, Captain Doashang. If anyone stays back it should be you."
Doashang sighed. "I don't like being an observer. But I agree that everything we know must be relayed to Earth. If I'm to take on your noncombatants and children, we'll have to dock our ships in flight at high speed, which is dangerous. We can't decelerate to dock or we'll never catch the Formic ship."
"We'll have to trust our computers and pilots," said Concepcion. "I'll have our crew make preparations immediately."
*
Rena went to the docking hatch at the designated time, carrying a small bag with a single change of clothes. Segundo stood beside her, an arm around her shoulders. There was commotion all around them: infants crying, mothers shushing them, small children flying about despite their parents' stern commands to be quiet and still. A few of the women were crying too, particularly the younger mothers and brides, clinging to their husbands who were staying behind. Rena refused to cry. To cry was to acknowledge that something terrible might happen, that this parting between her and Segundo could be their last, and she refused to believe it.
The proximity alarm went off, startling her. It meant the WU-HU ship was close now, preparing to dock. Frightened children flew into their parents' arms, and everyone watched the docking hatch at the end of the corridor. The hatch was solid steel without windows, but Rena stared at it as if she could see the approaching ship on the other side.
Segundo's hand went to his handheld and turned off the alarm. Silence retuned to the corridor, then Segundo's voice was loud. "There may be a jolt when they dock. Everyone get close to a wall and hold on to something."
Parents immediately pulled their children in close and floated to one of the walls, clinging to a pipe or a handhold. Segundo and Rena moved to a corner and anchored themselves.
"Docking the ships like this is ridiculously dangerous," said Rena quietly, and not for the first time.
"It's necessary," said Segundo.
"It is not necessary. We should be staying on the ship. Or at least I should. There's no reason for me to go. I don't have small children. Our only son isn't even on the ship anymore. I should be staying with you. I'm useless on that ship."
"You're not useless," said Segundo. "You have a talent for comforting others. These women need you, Rena, now more than ever. You can be a strength to them."
"I can just as easily be a strength to you."
He smiled. "And you always will be. But you can't be by my side through this. I won't be on the ship."
She turned her head away from him. She didn't want him speaking about the attack. She knew the particulars; he had told her the plan and the risks he would be taking, but she didn't want to think about it. To think about it was to imagine every possible thing that could go wrong.
He put his arm around her waist again. She turned back to him and saw that he was smiling at her gently. It was the smile he always gave her when he realized it was pointless to argue with her and he was conceding defeat. Only this time he couldn't concede. She couldn't stay. It would cause a panic. Other women would then insist on it, and those with children who wanted to be near their husbands would then be torn. Leaving would suddenly look like abandonment and not a command they were forced to obey.
Rena felt safe right then. Despite the docking, despite the hormigas or Formics or whatever they were called now, she felt safe with his arm around her. She had wanted to argue with him and to object again to the whole stupid affair, but his smile had burned away the fight in her.
There was a violent jolt as the WU-HU ship touched down, and several people screamed. The lights flickered. Rena put a hand to her mouth, stifling her own cry. Then it was over. The ship steadied, and for a moment all was quiet. Muffled noises then sounded on the other side of the docking hatch as someone secured a seal and pressurized the airlock.
The light above the hatch turned from red to green, and two sharp knocks clanged on the hatch. Bahzim opened the hatch, and an Asian man floated through. His uniform suggested that he was the captain, and Concepcion approached him and greeted him. Words were exchanged, though Rena couldn't hear. Concepcion then turned to everyone in the corridor and said, "Captain Doashang here has taken a great risk to dock with us, and we appreciate his kindness in taking you onto his ship until this matter is over. Please show him the same courtesy you have always shown me. Now let's do this quickly. Single file, keep the line moving."
The people closest to the hatch began to gather their things and move.
Rena suddenly felt panicked. It was happening. They were moving already. She hadn't said good-bye. This was too quick. She turned to Segundo. He was looking down at her. He put his hands on her arms and smiled in that disarming way again, the way that blocked out everything and everyone around her, that look of his that could silence all the world for her.
People around them were moving into position, getting into line.
Rena ignored them. There were a million things she wanted to say to him--nothing that hadn't been said already every day of their married lives, nothing that he didn't already know. But still she wanted to say them. Yet "love" suddenly felt like such a small word. It wasn't love that she felt for him. It was something much greater, something that she didn't have a word for.
He slid something into her hand. She looked down. It was two letters sealed in envelopes. Her name was written on one. The other was for Victor. Her tears came instantly. No, she was not taking letters. A letter is what husbands write to their wives when they don't think they're coming back. And he was coming back. This wasn't good-bye. She wouldn't even entertain the thought. She shook her head, pushed the letters back into his hand, and closed his fingers around them.
"You can read me that when this is over," she said. "And you can give that letter to our son someday."
He smiled but seemed a little hurt.
"I'll make you dinner," she said, wiping at her eyes. "Then we'll squeeze into a hammock, and you can read me every word. Nothing would make me happier."
"Aren't you curious to know what it says now?"
She put a hand on his cheek. "I already know what it says, mi cielo. And I feel the same way."
He nodded. His true smile returned. He put the letters back in his jacket. "I get to pick the hammock," he said. "A very small hammock. It may be crowded. You'll have to float very close."
She embraced him, holding him tight, wetting his shirt with her tears.
The line was moving. Half of the people were already gone.
"You better go," he told her.
She cleared her throat and composed herself. What was she doing crying like this? She took a deep breath and wiped at her eyes. This was absurd. She was overreacting. Everything was going to be fine. He took her bag and offered her his arm.
"I can carry my own bag, silly," she said. "It's weightless."
"Never deny a man his chivalry," said Segundo.
She shrugged, relenting, then linked her arm in his and let him escort her to the hatch.
When they reached the hatch, he gave her back her bag. The line never stopped moving. Their arms parted. She was going through; there was no time to stop. She looked back and saw him once before she was forced to turn a corner. A hand took hers and gently pulled her into the WU-HU ship. It was a female
member of the crew, young and Chinese and beautiful. "Huanying," the woman said. And then in English, "Welcome."
"Thank you," said Rena.
The lights on the WU-HU ship were brighter than she was accustomed to. She squinted, letting her eyes adjust. The ship was sleek and modern, with tech everywhere, nothing like El Cavador. She moved to where the other mothers and children were gathered, giving words of comfort and embraces where she knew they were needed.
The hatch closed. The two ships separated. The crew moved Rena and the others to their quarters. The rooms were small, but everyone would have a hammock at least, and besides, it was only for a few days. Rena moved to place her bag in the designated compartment and saw that the bag was open. Odd. She was sure she had closed it. She looked inside and found items she hadn't packed. Two sealed envelopes. One addressed to her, the other addressed to Victor.
*
Mono wasn't getting on the WU-HU ship. Of that he was certain. He had come to the docking hatch with Mother and all of the other women and children, but just because he was nine and small and technically a child didn't mean he couldn't help on El Cavador. Hadn't Victor told him that he would have to step up and help Segundo more? Wasn't that his job? Who would do the small-hand work for Segundo if the ship needed repairs? No, he was staying. He had a duty. Except for one problem. Mother. She was holding his hand like a vice. For this to work, Mono was going to have to lie. And he hated lying, especially to Mother.
He watched as the docking hatch opened, and the WU-HU captain floated into El Cavador. The man spoke briefly with Concepcion, and then Concepcion made an announcement. Show the captain respect. Be good. Blah blah blah. The same instruction every adult always gave. Of course everyone would be good. We'll be staying on someone else's ship. Guest rules. Everybody knows that.
Except Mono wouldn't be staying there. He'd be staying right here. He turned to Mother and saw that she was crying. Not openly, not big tears like girls his age would shed just so an adult would come running, but real tears, quiet tears, the ones Mother never wanted Mono to see.
He squeezed her hand and spoke gently. "It's going to be all right, Mother."
She wiped her face, smiled, and lowered herself so they were eye to eye. "Of course it will, Monito. Mother is being a blubbery boo." It was a word she used whenever he caught her crying this way, and he smiled. He knew he was probably too old for such childish words, but they always helped Mother stop crying when she said them, and so Mono didn't mind.
He noticed then how the other women were clinging to their husbands and saying their good-byes. Mother had no one. Father had gotten sick when Mono was too young to remember, and the medicine Father had needed hadn't been on board.
Mono watched as Mother gathered their things and moved into the line, still wiping at her eyes. How could he leave her now? She would be terrified to discover him not on the ship. It would break her heart. She would be furious.
But hadn't she told him that he was the man of the house? Hadn't she called him her little protector? Always in a way that was cute, yes, always in a way that suggested she really didn't mean it. But wasn't it true? He was the man of the house. He was her protector. And if he could prove that to her, if he could make it real for her, maybe she wouldn't cry so much. Maybe all the sadness she felt for Father would go away.
"I want to go to the front of the line with Zapa," said Mono. Zapaton, or Big Shoes, was a boy Mono's age--probably his best friend if you didn't count Victor or Mother or Segundo.
"Stay with me, Monito."
"Please. I want to see inside the ship."
"We'll be in the ship in a moment."
"But Zapa's father gave him a handheld that has a Chinese translator on it so we could greet the crew in Chinese."
It was a lie. And it was the lowest of lies to use on Mother. He knew that if he inserted another child's father into the story, if he made it seem like he was missing out on some privilege or opportunity because he had no father to give him such things, Mother would relent.
She sighed, annoyed. "Stay where I can see you."
Mono didn't wait for her to change her mind. He launched upward, grabbed a handhold, turned his body, launched again, and landed beside Zapa, who was sniffling and wiping at his eyes.
"What are you crying for?" asked Mono.
"My papito. He's staying behind." Zapa had six bothers and sisters, all of whom were ahead of him in line, as was his mother.
"I need you to pretend that I came with you on the ship," said Mono.
Zapa wiped his nose across his sleeve. "What?"
"I'm not getting on the WU-HU ship, but I need you to make it look like I did."
"You're not getting on the ship?"
"Listen. When you get inside, my mother is going to come looking for me. Tell her I'm in the bathroom."
"Which bathroom?"
"The bathroom on the WU-HU ship."
"But you said you weren't getting on the WU-HU ship."
"I won't be in the bathroom, meathead. I'll be here, hiding on El Cavador."
Zapa's eyes widened. "Are you stupid? You're going to get me in trouble."
"I need to stay and help. Just tell my mother I took the handheld with the translator into the bathroom to study Chinese."
Zapa made a face. "You're talking loco, Mono. Esta tostao."
"Just tell her."
They reached the hatch. Mono looked back. Mother was talking to someone else, not paying attention. Mono stepped away from the line and hid behind some crates as Zapa and his family went through the hatch. Mono stayed there, not moving until long after the hatch closed and the WU-HU ship flew away.
*
Lem brought up the rendering of the Formic ship and enlarged it as much as he could in the holospace over his desk in his room. Benyawe and Chubs floated nearby, watching him. "Why not simply shoot the thing with the glaser?" asked Lem. "Why not blast the Formics to smithereens and be done with it? None of this flying down to the surface and planting explosives. We fire the glaser and turn the ship to dust."
"It wouldn't work," said Benyawe. "The Formic ship is too big and too dense. The glaser wasn't designed for that type of mass. It was designed for rocks."
"Asteroids are filled with dense metals," said Lem. "Compositionally they're essentially the same thing."
"Let's not forget what happened that last time we fired the glaser," said Benyawe. "It's too unstable. We have no idea what type of gravity field would result, if any at all. Nor can we assume that the same metals we find in asteroids are the ones used to construct this ship. The Formics may use alloys unlike any we've ever seen. All we know is that the surface of that ship is designed to resist collisions and high radiation at near-lightspeed, which means they're incredibly strong. Far stronger than any asteroid."
"If that's the case, then what good will explosives do?" asked Chubs.
"How the ship responds to the explosives will tell us a great deal about the hull's strength," said Benyawe. "But that's not the only reason why I question the glaser. Consider our speed. We're traveling at a hundred and ten thousand kilometers per hour. The glaser wasn't built for that. If we extended it out of the ship to fire, it would likely be struck by something and ripped to shreds. Even tiny space particles would render it useless. It was designed to fire from a stationary position. Our spacesuits have heavy shielding. The glaser doesn't."
"Then we build some shielding for it," said Lem. "You're engineers. You figure it out."
"Easier said than done," said Benyawe. "This would require time we don't have and resources we may not have."
"We've got four cargo bays full of metal cylinders," said Lem. "You have all the metal you need."
"Yes, which would require smelting and reshaping and building," said Benyawe. "We're engineers, Lem. We're not manufacturers. We draw up plans. Someone else makes them."
"Free miners can build engines with space junk and bonding glue," said Lem. "Surely we can build a shield for the glaser."
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"I am not a free miner," said Benyawe. "I wish I had the capabilities you'd like me to have, but I don't. We can poll the crew and perhaps find people with all the skills required, but again, the glaser is not the answer, even with shielding. In all likelihood, all the glaser would do is alert the Formics of our presence and seal our own doom. We'd accomplish nothing, and they would blow us to dust before we knew what hit us."
"Well then," said Lem. "That's a pessimistic position if ever I heard one."
"You asked for my scientific opinion," said Benyawe, "and as an engineer on the very weapon you want to use, I'm giving it to you. You're the captain, Lem. You're the one who will decide, not me. I'm merely giving you considerations so that you can make an informed decision."
Lem sighed. "I know. I'm being a snot. It's good counsel. I'll relay to El Cavador that we have explosives." He excused them then, put his face in the holospace, and called El Cavador. After a short delay, Concepcion's head appeared.
"We can contribute twenty-five men," said Lem. "We're not operating on a full crew, so I'm putting in all the men I can afford. And we have explosives."
Concepcion showed no emotion. "Thank you."
He waited for her to say more, but she didn't. "Now to another matter, Captain," he said. "When we last met, you downloaded files from my ship."
"When we last met, you killed one of my crew, crippled my ship, and risked the lives of everyone in my family, including women and children."
He had to be careful how he responded. She was probably recording this transmission, and he couldn't make any statement that could be used against him in court. An apology would be an admission of guilt, as would telling her that he hadn't intended to hurt anyone. But it was best to avoid such statements anyway. Unless he broke down and sobbed like a penitent churchgoer, she'd probably think him insincere. Better to ignore the issue entirely.
"Downloading our files constitutes theft," he said.
"Killing my nephew constitutes murder."
Lem resisted the urge to sigh. "Come now, Captain," he wanted to say. "Must we play this tit for tat game of who is guiltier of the greater crime? Besides, it would be involuntary manslaughter, not murder, and probably a much lesser charge if Juke lawyers jumped into the fray." But aloud he said, "What are your intentions with this data?"