The laser started cutting again.
Concepción watched a moment, then her handheld vibrated. She put it to her ear and answered it.
Edimar’s voice was rushed and panicked. “It’s coming back,” she said. “The pod. It’s already close and moving fast. We have about twenty-eight minutes before it reaches the debris cloud.”
Concepción leaped forward to the holotable and swiped her hand through the holospace. The video feeds disappeared. “Show me,” she said.
The people around her recoiled, sensing her alarm. “What is it?” asked Selmo.
A system chart with dots of light appeared in the holospace. One light was marked EL CAVADOR. Other smaller dots of light immediately around the ship represented debris. Concepción ignored those and focused instead on a distant dot of light off to the side, alone out in space. As she watched, a computer-rendered line representing the ship’s trajectory extended from the dot across the holospace and landed directly on El Cavador.
The crew stared. They all knew what it meant.
“How much time do we have?” asked Selmo.
“Less than twenty-eight minutes,” said Concepción.
“Everyone to stations,” said Selmo. “Move!”
Selmo stayed by her side while the crew hurried to their workstations. Dreo entered from the corridor and flew to the holotable, coming in from the crow’s nest. Concepción spoke into the handheld. “Watch the pod’s progress, Edimar. If it changes speed or its trajectory notify me immediately.” She ended the call and turned to Dreo and Selmo. “What are our options?” she asked.
“Hard to say,” said Selmo. “We don’t know what we’re up against. We know next to nothing about this pod.”
“We know it destroyed the Italians,” said Dreo, “one of the best defended clans in the Belt. We know it’s lethal. We know the Italians’ death wasn’t an accident. The pod destroyed four ships, not just one. You can’t chalk that up as a mistake. It wiped them out. This was an intentional kill.”
“Agreed,” said Selmo. “But we don’t know if it considers us a threat as well.”
“It’s heading straight for us,” said Dreo. “It’s not coming here to play a hand of cards. It likely thinks we’re part of the Italians. And for whatever reason it considered the Italians a threat. We don’t know why, but it’s probably safe to assume that the Italians didn’t provoke it. That would be foolish. The Italians wouldn’t endanger themselves. They’d play it cautiously. Which would suggest that this thing killed them indiscriminately. But in my mind that isn’t even the question we need to answer. The ‘why’ is irrelevant right now. We need to know the ‘how.’ How did it wipe them out? What are its weapons capabilities? Can it attack from long range? Are we already within its reach? Consider the debris. The pieces of wreckage aren’t clean cut. The edges aren’t straight. This doesn’t look like laser work. It looks like explosions, like something ripped the ships apart. How did it do that? And more importantly how do we defend against it?”
“Maybe we can’t,” said Selmo. “Unless the pod attacked and destroyed the Italians incredibly fast, the Italians would have fired back. They would have given the pod everything they had. Yet their weapons, which are much stronger than ours, apparently had little to no effect on this thing. What makes us think we can take it down when the Italians couldn’t?”
“Then what do you suggest?” asked Dreo. “We can’t run. The pod’s too fast. It would catch us easily. Plus running only makes it harder to defend ourselves or to hit it with the lasers.”
“If the pod thinks we’re with the Italians,” said Selmo, “if we’re an enemy by association, then perhaps we should move out of the debris cloud. If we distance ourselves from this place, the pod might disassociate us from the Italians and leave us alone.”
“If we move out of the cloud, we’ll be exposed,” said Concepción. “The debris is the best defense we have right now. It provides some cover and it likely throws off the pod’s sensors.”
“If it even has sensors,” said Dreo.
“Point taken,” said Concepción. “We need information about this pod, and the only people who can provide it are the survivors inside the wreckage.” She punched a command into her handheld and called Bahzím, who was supervising the effort outside. When he answered, she told him the situation and asked if there was any way to speak with the survivors.
“The only way to communicate with them is by light board,” said Bahzím. “We write, and they give simple responses, nodding their head or writing words on the glass of the hatch one letter at a time.”
“We don’t have time for that,” said Dreo. “Look, these survivors are hindering our maneuverability. We won’t be able to move around the debris field quickly if we’re moored to a massive hunk of wreckage. They’re an albatross. I hate to be the one to say this, but we need to consider cutting them loose.”
“Absolutely not,” said Concepción.
“We could come back and get them when it’s over,” said Dreo.
“They can’t survive without us,” said Selmo. “We’re supplying them with oxygen.”
“Think,” said Dreo. “These are nine total strangers. Are we willing to handicap ourselves and risk everything for people we don’t know?”
“They’re not strangers,” said Concepción. “The moment we started helping them they became a part of this crew. End of discussion. Selmo, have the miners remove the pylons and pull the wreckage in close with the mooring cables. That will give us more mobility. Dreo, contact the quickship. Get Victor and Segundo and Toron back here immediately.”
Dreo hesitated, as if he would argue further, then went to his workstation.
Concepción turned to Selmo. “We need a better defensive position. I want us behind a large chunk of debris if there is one. Then put our best men on our five pebble-killers.”
“That may not be enough,” said Selmo.
“It’s going to have to be,” said Concepción.
* * *
Victor floated in the quickship, watching the large, twisted piece of wreckage beside him. An hour had passed since Father and Toron had gone inside through the hatch, and Victor was on the verge of flying to the wreck to investigate. Just as he began unspooling cable to produce a makeshift safety line, a voice crackled over the radio.
“Quickship, this is El Cavador. If you can hear us, respond. Repeat. Victor, Toron, Segundo, if you can hear us, respond.”
Victor dropped the cable. El Cavador was using radio, which meant one of two things. Either the ship had determined that radio wasn’t what had attracted the pod, or the pod was no longer a threat. A different voice sounded in Victor’s helmet. “El Cavador, this is Segundo, we copy. Over.”
Victor relaxed. It was Father. He didn’t sound injured.
“Toron here as well,” said Toron.
Victor swallowed, composing himself. “And Victor. I’m here, too. Over.”
“Get back to the ship immediately,” said Dreo. “The pod’s coming back.”
Victor’s relief at hearing Father’s voice was gone in an instant. They weren’t prepared for the pod; they had five pebble-killers. The Italians had been armed with as many as twenty-five, and the pod had wasted them. Father began asking questions, and Dreo shared what he knew.
“We can’t come back immediately,” said Father. “Toron and I are still inside one of the wrecks. We’re moving back to the quickship now, but it will be ten minutes before we reach it. We won’t get back to you in time. Don’t wait for us. If you need to run or move elsewhere, do it now. We’ll catch up to you later if we can.”
“Concepción won’t like that,” said Dreo.
“She doesn’t have much choice,” said Father.
El Cavador clicked off. Victor hit his talkback: If the ship had abandoned radio silence, there was no need for him to adhere to it now. “Father, what happened?”
Father sounded solemn. “We found Faron shortly after we came inside. He was dead. There were a
lot of people in this one, Vico. None of them made it. We had to cut through some heavy debris in one of the corridors to reach the rear of the wreck. We knew it would take a while, but we went for it anyway. It didn’t pay off.”
Victor said nothing. Faron. Dead. Here inside this wreck. That meant this was Vesuvio, Janda’s ship; it meant that if they were going to find Janda, it would likely be here. Faron would have stayed close to her; he would have protected her. Yet Father and Toron hadn’t found her; Father would have said so if they had.
They weren’t going to find her, Victor realized. Ever. It had been an unlikely possibility from the beginning, but Victor had still clung to hope. Now that lingering chance was gone. Alejandra was dead. Nine survivors was more of a miracle than they could have hoped for.
Father and Toron emerged from the hatch. They deflated the bubble and flew back up to the quickship. Toron looked vacant as he climbed back into the cockpit. Victor watched him, seeing that Toron had reached the same conclusion he had: Janda was gone.
Concepción’s voice came over the radio. “We’ve moved to a more defensive position, but don’t come to us if you have enough air. The pod is nearly here, and you may be safer where you are. We’ve managed to get a communication line to the survivors, and we’ve learned more about what we’re up against. The survivors believe the pod is drawn to heat. It stopped at their position and sat there for hours doing nothing. The Italians tried communicating with it, but the pod was nonresponsive. Then, without provocation, it flew to the rear of one of their ships, clung to it with grappling arms, and began probing the ship’s engines with long, thin drills, like needles almost. The drills went in like a ‘knife through hot butter,’ they said, hardly any resistance at all. The pod was systematic about it, as if looking for something. The first ship blew up before anyone knew what was happening. At first the Italians thought the pod had planted an explosive, but it appears the probing of the engines is what caused the detonation. That’s why the debris looks ripped apart. It blew up from within. As for the pod, it sustained no visible damage. Not even the needle drills. The other ships fired their lasers, but the pod moved quickly to the engines of the second ship and repeated the process. The pod took several direct hits, but again, no damage. Either it’s shielded or its hull is impermeable to lasers. It might not attack us, but if it does, we’ll destroy it. Bahzím has a team of miners already outside with penetrating tools. If it lands on our engines, we’ll rip it to shreds.”
“Did it have any other weapons?” asked Father.
“None that the Italians could detect. Just the probing needle drills. It’s also much smaller than we thought. Maybe a quarter the size of El Cavador. The Italians believe it’s designed for atmospheric entry and exit, though probably not in really strong gravity, by the looks of its engines and design. It could land on and leave from, say, Earth, but it might have trouble with Jupiter. That’s conjecture, though, and not necessarily helpful.”
“Anything is helpful,” said Father. He quickly gave her his own report and informed her that they had found Faron’s body but no survivors.
“I’m sorry to hear it,” said Concepción. “Once we destroy the pod and make needed repairs, if any, we’ll resume the search. In the meantime, hold your position. If you don’t hear from us afterward, come to us. We may not be able to contact you, and we’ll likely need you for repairs.” She paused a moment, then added, “Qué Dios les proteja.” May God protect you.
“Y ustedes también,” said Father. And you as well.
The radio went silent, and no one spoke for a moment.
“She doesn’t think they’ll survive an attack, does she?” Victor asked.
“I don’t think so, no,” said Father. “And she has every reason to believe so. The Italians tried to stop it and couldn’t. It got all four of their ships, and they all were desperately fighting to the end.”
“El Cavador doesn’t have a chance,” said Toron. “This thing took laser fire. Direct hits. We can’t let it reach the ship.”
“What do you suggest?” asked Father.
“Bahzím has a team outside with penetrating tools. We have the same tools here. Spreaders, shears, cold sprayers. We’re closer to the pod than they are. It will be coming from this direction. When it passes, we get behind it and attack it from the rear. We’ll have to come in slightly from the side to avoid its thrusters, but we hit its hull, climb out, anchor ourselves to whatever we can, and destroy anything that moves with the tools. Maybe we can disable these grappling arms or needle drills. If we cripple it enough, it can’t inflict any damage.”
“It’s going to be moving,” said Father. “If we’re off on our approach, even slightly, we’ll miss it.” He turned to Victor. “You only just learned to fly this thing, Vico. Can you do this? Can we hit it?”
Victor blinked. They were going to attack the pod. Alone. With rescue gear. “I’d need to make some adjustments to the program to give us more propulsion; we can’t match it with our current speed. We’ll need to be much faster. But even then, I won’t have a guidance system. It will be like shooting a bow, with us as the arrow. If I track it right, and judge our speed right, it might work. But it will largely be guesswork. The challenge will be securing ourselves to the hull once we reach it. How do we anchor? We’ll need to cling to the hull long enough to get out of the ship with tools.”
“Leave that to me,” said Father. “You worry about getting us into a position to attack.” He clicked on the radio. “El Cavador, this is Segundo. Give me the exact location, trajectory, and speed of the pod based on our current position.”
“What are you planning?” asked Concepción.
“A bit of sabotage,” said Father. “We might be able to do some damage before it reaches you. And don’t argue with us. You know it makes tactical sense, and we’re doing it whether you approve or not. We’ll simply have a better chance of success if you help.”
After a pause, Concepción answered, “Selmo will give you the coordinates. Be careful, Segundo. I need my two best mechanics and my sky scanner alive.”
“You need everyone on board El Cavador alive,” said Father.
Selmo gave them the coordinates. The numbers meant little to Victor. But for Toron, a sky scanner, the coordinates were a second language he spoke fluently. Even without instruments, using only the placement of stars around them, Toron knew precisely where the pod would be coming from. He gave directions to Victor, who turned the quickship around and flew them through the debris, weaving this way and that until Toron felt certain about their position. Victor fired the retros and settled in a patch of shadow behind a large piece of debris.
“He’ll be coming right through here,” said Toron, making a sweeping gesture with his arm, showing them the expected trajectory.
Victor rotated the quickship so it was pointed in the direction to intercept the pod once it passed. Toron gazed outward with his visor zoomed to maximum, searching the sky for the pod, waiting. Father worked furiously behind Victor, making hooks for the cables. Using the shears, he snipped bars from the quickship’s walls and bent them with another hydraulic tool, jury-rigging a hook.
A few minutes later Toron saw it.
“There,” he said, pointing.
Victor strained his eyes and zoomed in with his visor. At first he saw nothing. There was wreckage clouding his view, and the sunlight through the debris was dim and heavily dappled with long shadows that kept most of their surroundings in near darkness.
Then he saw it. Or at least a glimpse of it, there in the distance, behind a scattering of debris, moving toward them.
Then the debris thinned, and the whole pod came into view. Victor’s heart sank. It was a ship, yes, but with its grappling hooks and needle drills already extended, it looked more like a smooth-shelled insect. It wasn’t human. Whatever was inside it piloting it couldn’t be human. It wasn’t shaped for humans. It seemed too narrow in the body. And what was that on the nose of the ship? A drive? For the fir
st time in Victor’s memory, he was mechanically stumped. Typically he could look at other ships and know just by the shape of them and the placement of their sensors and engines how the ship flew and operated. Even ships he had not read about and whose designs were completely foreign to him, even those Victor could understand if he looked at them long enough.
Except this one. This was like nothing he had ever seen before. Had it not been flying through space in front of him, if he had seen only an image of it on the nets, he wouldn’t have believed it was a ship at all. He wouldn’t have believed it even existed.
El Cavador can’t stop it, Victor realized. Concepción isn’t prepared for this. Nothing is prepared for this.
“What the devil is that?” said Toron.
“It doesn’t matter,” said Father. “We don’t have to understand it. We just have to stop it. Check your safety harnesses. Make sure your cables are secure. If you’re not tethered and you slip, you’re gone. The ship will be moving. Use your hand and boot magnets. Strap a second pair of magnets to your knees. Stay as flat as you can. Crawl, don’t walk. Toron, once we land, bring out the tools. We’ll target the needle drills and grappling arms first.” Father reached up and turned on his helmet cam. He was going to record everything. “You can do this, Vico,” he said. “Wait for the pod to pass. Then pull up alongside it and land on its surface.”
Yes, thought Victor. Land on its surface. How simple. Just plop a quickship—which was never intended to be piloted, never intended to hold people at all, and operated with rudimentary flight controls—onto a moving alien target. Easy.
Earth Unaware (First Formic War) Page 24