Victor and Imala glanced at each other and said nothing.
"And why does Earth fail to learn its lesson?" Lem said. "Why do we persist in this divided idiocy? Because the world is full of prideful bastards, that's why. Everyone believes they're smarter than everyone else, more capable than everyone else, more justified than everyone else. Humility went extinct a long time ago."
"Sounds like you're describing yourself," said Imala.
"You're right," said Lem. "That's exactly what I'm describing. And the world is more like me than either of you. Earth isn't a free-miner family, Victor. It might have been all harmony and roses on your ship, but it's the opposite on Earth."
"We had our disagreements," said Victor.
"Of course you did," said Lem. "Every family does. But when it was decision time, the family moved forward as one. Even if half or more disagreed with the direction, everyone went along with the plan to maintain the integrity of the group. You won't have that luxury with Earth. Nobody cares about the group."
"You don't think much of people, do you?" said Imala.
"I managed companies before I came to Juke," said Lem. "I know how people think. The kind of global come-together you're talking about is a pipe dream. It would fall on its face in a week. It's not sustainable, particularly without any system of government. The minute volunteers disagree with your approach, they'll either quit or splinter off. They have no incentive to stick with you. Then everyone will try to do their own thing, and we'll accomplish nothing. We'll be right back where we started. Nowhere."
"So it's your way or failure," said Victor. "Is that what you're saying?"
"I am offering you what no one else will," said Lem. "Go public with this, and I can guarantee you you'll be cut out of it, faster even than the military will do. The military will consult with you at least, initially anyway, because they'll recognize the significance of what you've accomplished. Not the public. And certainly not your financiers. They'll protect their investment. They'll use their own people or people they consider more qualified than you. You'll be kicked aside. No one on Earth will feel confident putting the planet's future or their money into the hands of wanted criminals, both under the age of twenty-five. Sorry. That's a fact."
"But you will," said Victor. "But you we can trust. Excuse me if I seem a little skeptical."
"You have every right to be," said Lem. "But if what I've said hasn't convinced you, this will: If you go public with this and ask for Earth's help, all of your equipment and people would need to be launched into orbit. Do you have any idea how much time that would require to prep and execute, how much money that would take? By the time you've gathered funding and a team and organized a launch, Earth could be a charcoal briquette. I'm already out here. I'm a hop away from the Formic ship. My resources--which are vast--are here, in space. I am ready to move right now."
"Engineers and equipment aren't enough," said Victor. "We need soldiers as well. You said so yourself. Those you don't have."
"True," said Lem. "But I know how to get them."
"So you say," said Victor. "Why should we believe you?"
"You shouldn't believe me. I've given you every reason not to believe me. But that doesn't change the fact that I am the best chance you've got. You may despise me, but I can help you like no one else can. I will give you freedom to operate like no one else can. I would equip you like no one else can."
"Yes, and then you'd cut us loose the moment we're no longer convenient," said Victor.
"No. That won't happen."
"It did before," said Victor.
"I thought I was doing you a favor. You may not believe that, but it's true. And up until that moment I had done everything in my power to stop the drones. I have witnesses who can testify to that fact."
"You can pay people to say anything, Lem. You certainly have the money for it. Testimony means nothing."
Lem laughed and tossed up his hands. "Fine. You win, Victor. I'm Mr. Evil. I'm Beelzebub himself. The Lord of Darkness. That's me. Is that what you want me to say? Is that why you broke into my apartment? To gloat?"
Victor said nothing.
"Why are we even having this conversation?" said Lem. "Nothing I say is going to convince you otherwise. You want to walk out of here and put everything you've learned into the hands of incompetent idiots? Be my guest. You want to condemn the human race to extinction, by all means, don't let me stop you. But if you want to end this and send these bugs back to whatever rock they crawled out of, let me help you. I care about people, Victor. You can scoff and roll your eyes all day if you'd like, but it's true. If it wasn't, I wouldn't have gone to all the trouble I did to find your mother."
The words were like a blow to Victor's chest. He suddenly felt unsteady on his feet.
"She's alive, Victor. And if you put down that gun, I can show you exactly where she is."
CHAPTER 12
Rena
On a salvage ship in the outer rim of the Asteroid Belt, Rena Delgado sat alone at the helm, typing a report at a terminal. It was three hours into sleep shift, and the lights in the helm were dark save for the glow of the screen and the small spotlight above her. The report was a detailed description of all the parts the ship had recovered in its most recent salvage jobs. Navigational equipment, heating systems, wiring, furniture, everything they had stripped from the derelict ships they had come upon. Most of the descriptions were simple and brief. Year, make, model, condition, and any noticeable defects that would influence its price.
But every so often, Rena and her crew would strip something really complex. A drive system, for example. Or an oxygen generator. Something that had a lot of moving parts and a potentially large resale value. These had to be described in great detail, with an account given of all its constituent parts and functions.
And since no one knew ship parts as well as Rena, and since no one could inspect them so thoroughly or determine their value so accurately, the chore of writing the salvage report naturally fell to her.
Rena didn't mind the work. The writing was tedious, yes, but it kept her mind busy.
Plus, whenever she would begin to describe a new part they had found, a memory of Segundo would spark in her mind. He had repaired and replaced so many parts on El Cavador that he had practically rebuilt the ship from the inside out.
Rena remembered every repair. How could she not? Segundo would come back to their room at the end of each work shift and detail everything that had happened to him. People he had talked to. Gossip he had heard. Repairs he had made. It had become a ritual between them. And Rena would listen as she worked, preparing the navigational maps for the next work shift. Then, when Segundo had finished, she would do the same, recounting everything of interest that had happened at the helm.
She had thought nothing of those moments at the time. They were so normal, so wholly unremarkable. And yet Rena would give anything to experience any one of them again.
But no, it did her mind no good to wish for what she could not have.
She pushed the memories aside and looked down at her handwritten notes. She was only three-quarters of the way through the report, she realized. It would be hours before she finished.
She debated going to bed, but if she did, she wouldn't be able to continue until the following evening. The crew would need this terminal throughout the day. There was another terminal in the cargo hold where the survivors from El Cavador stayed, but Rena knew she wouldn't get anything done there. Trying to concentrate among eighteen women and thirty-seven children would be an exercise in futility. No one ever gave her a moment's peace. If there was any issue whatsoever, they all felt the need to bring it to her attention.
"The toilet in the restroom is clogged again, Rena."
"The baby has a rash on its legs, Rena."
"The twins need more blankets, Rena."
"There's a pipe dripping in the corner, Rena, and the droplets are floating everywhere."
Look at this, Rena. Solve this, Rena. Lis
ten to me complain again, Rena.
Even some of the children came to her now, unloading their problems to her instead of going directly to their mothers.
"Felipe pushed me and I scraped my elbow."
"Marcella called me poop head, Rena. That's a bad word."
"Jose Luis took my crackers, Rena, and he won't give them back."
Rena would kindly direct them to their mothers, but this did little to deter them. They still came flying back later with some other complaint--crying sometimes, angry, frightened. There had even been one moment when Rena had overheard one of the mothers, Alicia, say to her youngest child Bixxi, "You better stop crying right now, young lady, or I am going to go get Rena."
What was that supposed to mean, Rena had wondered. Was she the enforcer of discipline now, the designated spanker?
No, she had realized. She had become the father. They had lost all of their men to the Formics, and now, without any of the women and children consciously making the decision, they had chosen Rena to fill that void.
There were times when she wanted to scream at them all. I am not in charge. Do not come to me with your problems. Solve them yourselves or go to the captain. I don't really care.
But that wasn't true exactly. She did care. The children, wild and obnoxious as they were, were just children after all--children who had each suffered a great loss. It broke Rena's heart to think of it. She had known each of their fathers; she had seen them interact with each and every child--playing together, laughing together, flying around the cargo bay together.
They were moments that could never be repeated. And for the younger children, they were moments that would soon be forgotten. It struck Rena as the greatest injustice of the universe. These little minds, who so desperately needed to remember their fathers, would almost certainly forget them with time.
She finished the report three hours later and sent it immediately via laserline to the nearest trade station on the asteroid Themis.
In the past few weeks, the interference had slowly dissipated, and communication across distances was gradually coming back online. Themis wasn't that far away, and Rena was confident the salvage traders there would spark to something on her list.
Rena watched the screen, waiting for the alert that would tell her the transmission had been received. She must have fallen asleep at some point, because the next thing she knew the screen chimed, and she jerked awake.
There was a message from Themis.
Transmission received. Have FWDed to salvage buyers.
Note: News feeds back online. Info on war.
Subscriptions are 100 C a week.
The words of the second line stopped Rena cold. There was a massive laserline receiver on Themis, and apparently they were getting feeds relayed to them from Earth again.
She wrote back immediately.
Can you do a search in the news feeds? I am looking for information on my son. Victor Delgado. He flew from the K Belt to Luna in a quickship to warn Earth of approaching Formics. Ship of origin was El Cavador. Any information is appreciated.
It was an hour before she received a reply.
100 credits to search the feeds.
She almost smacked the screen. They wanted to charge her to do a simple search? A task that would take them only a few minutes? A child could do it. She could get a subscription for a week and do the search herself for that price. Didn't they read her message? Victor had gone to warn Earth. Didn't that mean anything to them?
No, of course it didn't. They were on Themis. A rock of money-grubbers, if ever there was one.
She pushed herself away from the terminal and flew immediately to Arjuna's cabin.
It was several hours before the end of sleep shift, but she knocked on the door anyway. When no one answered, she knocked again. She heard movement inside, and a moment later the door opened. Sabad, one of Arjuna's wives, squinted at the light. Rena sighed inside. Of Arjuna's three wives, Sabad was the only one with whom Rena did not get along. The girl was young, barely over twenty, and she had not yet borne Arjuna any children.
Before Rena and the others from El Cavador had come aboard, Arjuna's three wives had each enjoyed their own room. But everyone had to sleep somewhere, and sacrifices had been made when the ship's crew had doubled in size. Now all of Arjuna's wives shared the same room, and Sabad seemed to hold Rena personally responsible for the inconvenience.
"Do you have any idea what time it is?" Sabad said, hovering in the door frame, giving Rena a look that would wilt flowers.
"I need to speak to Arjuna," said Rena.
"It can wait until morning, whatever it is."
"No. It can't. We just received a laserline from Themis. They're getting news feeds from Earth again."
"Good for them. You can tell my husband in the morning."
He's not just your husband, Rena wanted to say. He's Ubax's husband and Kaaha's husband, too, two of the other Somali women on board. You should use the plural possessive pronoun, Sabad, and say "our."
But Rena was not one to be petty--not out loud at least--so she simply said, "I apologize for the interruption, Sabad, but I think Arjuna would want to know this immediately."
"Do you claim to know the mind of my husband better than I do?"
"Of course not."
"Then go back to your little hive of spoiled children and leave us alone."
She began to close the door, but Rena stopped it with her hand. Normally Rena was mild-mannered and slow to rile, but Sabad was pushing the wrong buttons. The children from El Cavador were anything but spoiled. Those who were old enough to work did more on the ship in an hour than Sabad did in a day. Rena was just about to say as much when Arjuna appeared in the doorway. He was shirtless, and his black skin was almost invisible in the darkness. "What is it, Rena?" His voice was deep and froggy from sleep.
She told him about the laserline from Themis.
Arjuna considered a moment, then pulled himself out into the corridor and turned back to Sabad. "Go back to bed, Sabad. I will be there in a moment."
Sabad folded her arms. "Whatever you have to say to her, I can hear it, too."
"I said go back to bed, woman."
There was a bite in his tone, and Sabad relented. She gave Rena a final withering look then slammed the door in her face.
"She doesn't like me very much," said Rena.
"No. She doesn't. She thinks you're competition."
"Competition for what?"
"My affection."
Rena felt her cheeks flush.
Arjuna laughed softly. "Do not look embarrassed, Lady of El Cavador. I am not proposing marriage. I am telling you how a young woman's mind works. She has given me no children. She worries I will tire of her and turn to another."
"You do turn to another. Frequently. You have two other wives. I never know who I'm going to find in your room when I knock."
Arjuna shrugged. "It is hard to keep a schedule. I let the wives decide. There are many nights when none of them come to me. I can't say I blame them. It was much easier before you came. Each of the wives had her own room. I went to them. Now they share a room. The gods only know what they talk about."
Rena felt embarrassed. She had only thought of the inconvenience she and the family had been to the wives. She hadn't given much consideration to what it might mean to Arjuna. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean for us to cause marital strife."
Arjuna brushed the words away. "You have turned this ship into a moneymaker. That's what matters. This could be our biggest haul yet. All because of you."
It was true. A week ago they had come upon a derelict Juke vessel that appeared to be picked clean by vultures--which were aggressive salvagers who were little more than pirates. Arjuna was ready to dismiss the ship, but Rena had encouraged him to investigate it nonetheless. "Vultures often ignore the smaller parts in their rush to gut the ship," Rena had said. "Half the time they don't know what they're looking for. It won't hurt to look a little closer."
/> It hadn't hurt. They had found the drive system mostly intact, and the oxygen generator had needed only minor repairs. Those two parts alone should earn them more than all of their other salvages combined.
"We can't afford a subscription," said Arjuna. "One hundred credits a week is ridiculous. No salvage ship can afford that. We barely make enough to eat."
"They don't expect us to pay a hundred a week. They expect us to talk down the price."
"To how much?"
"Half that. Maybe as low as forty."
"Which we still can't afford. And Earth is a long way away. What good would the news do us here?"
"It's Earth," said Rena. "It's our home."
"Is it? When was the last time you were on Earth? Twenty years ago?"
"Unless the Formics are defeated, we are cut off, Arjuna. No supply lines will get through. We will die out here."
"I am aware of this. But our tracking the news feeds won't prevent that from happening. We are powerless to help, Rena. The Formics will win or lose regardless of us." He crossed his arms and studied her a moment. "Are you sure this is not about Victor? I know you want closure, Rena. I understand that."
"Not closure. That suggests he didn't make it to Luna. I'm certain he did."
"You say that, but I see the doubt in your eyes." He sighed softly. "He tried to cross the system in a quickship, Rena. This is impossible. There is no chance your son is still alive."
"Don't talk to me about chances. You do not know my son."
He held up his hands. "I have offended you. That was not my intent."
Rena ran a hand through her hair, calming herself. "This is not just about Victor. There are other advantages here. With a subscription we would have a continuous link to Themis's receiver. We'd be in the network. We'd get news from distant places in the Belt. We could better track vultures."
"These are all wonderful benefits, Rena. But we can't afford it. We are a salvage ship."
"What if we weren't?"
Her question confused him. "What are you saying?"
"What if we made this a mining ship?"
He laughed. "The Gagak is no mining ship. We're barely a salvage ship."
"What difference does that make? El Cavador was in no better condition when we started."
His smile faded. "You're serious about this."