Mother squinted. She always got that suspicious look in her eyes whenever Victor called her by the nickname he had given her as a child, as if he were concealing something. “Did you even go to bed last night, Vico? You weren’t in your hammock this morning.”
Victor bit into the arepa. It was hot and buttery. “I slept a few hours in the workshop.”
Mother sighed and looked at Mono. “And what about you, Monito? Are you learning anything from my son besides rebellion and disobedience?”
Mono’s mouth was full of arepa. He said something, but it was unintelligible.
“He says he sleeps like a baby,” said Victor. “Eight hours a night.”
Mono smiled and nodded to show Mother that the translation had been correct.
“At least one of you minds,” said Mother.
Victor kept quiet. He knew Mother wasn’t really angry. She knew the work they were doing needed to be done. She just didn’t like it.
“Father should be the one getting the tongue lashing,” said Victor. “He’s sleeping less than I am.”
“Oh don’t you worry,” said Mother. “He’s heard plenty from me today already.”
All of them had been working feverishly since the Council meeting, Father more than anyone.
“The Italians should be getting the laserline about now,” said Mother.
Victor nodded. “Still no word from the Juke ship?”
Mother shook her head. “We should have gotten a response by now, at least an acknowledgment of message received. But so far, nothing. Selmo thinks they pulled out before they got the message. They’re not showing up on our scans anymore.”
“Or maybe they got the message and shot back to Luna, fleeing for their lives,” said Mono.
“Then at least we got the message to someone,” Mother said.
“We should have told everyone,” said Victor. “We should have told the whole world ten days ago.”
She nodded and put a hand on his arm. “Just promise me you’ll sleep more.”
“Only if you promise to make this chili more often.”
“Yeah,” said Mono, smacking his lips. “Sabroso.” Delicious.
Victor’s handheld beeped, and Father’s voice came through. “Marco and I could use your help out here, Vico. If you’re done with that pebble-killer, send Mono on to bed and come give us a hand.”
When not working in the mine, Marco had been helping Father in recent days, joining him outside to build the ship’s defenses.
“I’m here with Mother,” said Victor. “She can hear you. She’s giving me the skunk eye.”
“I don’t want to leave this thing half installed overnight,” said Father, “and these new parts of yours are being a little finicky. Tell your mother I need you.”
“Tell your father he’s in big trouble,” said Mother.
“She says she loves you dearly,” said Victor.
Mother rolled her eyes, and Victor knew then that she wasn’t going to argue.
“I’m on my way out,” said Victor.
“Can I come?” said Mono.
“Absolutely not,” said Mother. “I told your mom I’d have you go straight to your hammock, and that’s exactly where you’re going.”
Mono looked ready to object, but a quick look and stern finger from Mother made Mono think better of it. He let his shoulders sag and launched up toward the hatch. When he was gone, Mother put a hand on Victor’s shoulder. “Please be careful, Vico. When we’re tired, we make mistakes. And you can’t make mistakes outside. Even little ones.”
“I’ll be careful.”
Five minutes later he was outside with Father and Marco, his lifeline stretching out behind him to the cargo bay.
“We rebooted,” said Father, gesturing to the newly installed PK. “But it’s still not coming online.”
Using his heads-up display—or HUD—Victor blinked his way into the ship’s computer to pinpoint the problem. He wasn’t a coder, but he had learned enough code to manipulate it when he needed to accommodate modifications. By the time he had uncovered the glitch, tweaked the code, and brought the PK to life, another hour had passed. Marco and Father were nearby, bolting one of the new armored plates onto the hull. The metal had come directly from the dig site, where the smelting machines had been modified to make them. There had been a lot of discussion on the ship about using the metal, with some people insisting that they send the metal directly to Luna with the rest of the minerals to build up more income. In the end, however, Concepción had sided with Father, and the smelters had been making additional plates ever since.
Victor joined Father and Marco and began helping them secure plates to the hull. He couldn’t hear the drill in his hand, but he knew the vibrations would be making noise inside the ship. Most people were sleeping, so if the sound was loud enough to wake them, Victor was sure he’d get a message in his helmet telling them to stop. After several more hours of work, no message came. Initially, Marco made the time pass quickly by telling old mining stories, some of which were so hilarious that Victor and Father had laughed until their stomachs hurt. It was the first time Victor had felt any sense of normalcy with an adult—other than Mother and Father—since Janda’s departure.
Eventually the stories dried up, however, and the three of them fell into a silence as they worked. They could stop at any moment, of course; Father and Marco had only started installing plates to keep busy while Victor worked on the PK. With that done, there was really no reason for them to be out this late. Victor stood up to suggest that they call it a night, when something in the distance, down on the surface of the asteroid, caught his attention. A flicker of movement, a streak of something out of the corner of his eye. Victor squinted into the darkness, straining to see. He blinked up the magnification feature on his helmet and zoomed his view down to where one of the mooring lines was anchored to the asteroid. It was hard to see much detail in the blackness, but it looked as if something was on the line.
“Father?”
“Yeah?”
“I think there’s something on the—”
There were twelve simultaneous, blinding flashes of light down near the asteroid. Victor instinctively clenched his eyes shut, feeling the ship shift slightly beneath his feet.
“What was that?” asked Marco.
Victor opened his eyes and saw among the dots of brightness still burned into his vision that all twelve mooring lines had been cut. The ship was adrift. Someone had blown the lines.
“It’s an attack!” Father shouted. “Hold on to something!”
The first laser hit the PK not two meters from where Victor was standing, slicing it from its base. A mechanism inside the PK exploded outward, causing the PK to shoot back like a rocket in zero gravity. It struck Marco in the side of the head just as he was bending down, tearing him away from the ship and sending him spinning out into space.
“Victor, get down!” Father cried.
Victor initiated the magnets in his hands and waist belt and quickly lowered himself to the hull on his stomach. The alarm in his HUD was beeping. Father must have initiated it. Everywhere on the ship, the siren would be wailing now, waking everyone.
Two laser blasts hit the hull near where Victor and Father lay, slicing off more sensors and instruments. Another laser cut wide to Victor’s left, and Victor turned his head and watched in horror as the laserline transmitter was hit. In one swift slice, the laser cut away the entire mechanism, leaving only the mounting plate and a few scorched circuits. The severed piece floated there in space, drifting slowly away. The ship’s primary source of long-range communication was gone.
Victor flinched as three more lasers swept across the surface of the ship to his right, not cutting deep into the hull, but slicing away all protruding instrumentations in their paths. Victor closed his eyes, expecting the inevitable, but the lasers didn’t touch him. A moment later his alarm went silent, and his HUD winked out. He had no power. His suit was dead. Had a laser cut his lifeline? No,
the surface lights on El Cavador were out as well; the lasers must have hit the main generators. Victor took a breath. He wasn’t getting fresh air. He no longer had heat. He tried to move, and the rotation of his body caused him to drift away from the hull. No power meant no magnets. He realized a moment too late that nothing was anchoring him to the ship. He reached out, clawing at the smooth surface, trying to get purchase, desperate to cling to something. He looked at Father, who was screaming, though Victor could hear nothing. Father had one hand outstretched, the other hand gripping a recessed handhold. Victor grabbed for Father’s hand, but it was more than a meter beyond his reach.
Another laser hit the hull, slicing away another sensor.
Victor turned his head, frantically scanning the sky around him. Was it the starship?
Then he saw it.
At first it was just a black space in the sky where stars should be. Then the ship came closer, and Victor could make out detail. It wasn’t a starship. It was a corporate. A Juke ship.
Floodlights blinded him. Victor raised his arm, shielding his eyes, squinting at the light. The corporate ship had approached in darkness and was now charging in, lights blazing. It wasn’t slowing down. It was going to ram El Cavador.
Victor looked back at Father, who was still screaming for him to reach. Victor flailed, reaching out, straining, stretching, extending his fingers.
The ship struck.
Father moved away fast.
Victor’s body slammed into something hard, the wind rushing out of him in a violent impact to his chest. He felt a flash of pain. The corporates had hit him. He was flat against their ship, and then he wasn’t, spinning away, free again, tumbling, disoriented. He turned his head and saw El Cavador moving away from him, his lifeline stretching out, growing taut. He couldn’t breath. His lungs were screaming for air. He looked at his lifeline and knew that a hard jerk might tear it from his back. He reached back and grabbed the line just as it went taut. The line jerked him hard, but it stayed connected. He held on. He was tumbling again, trailing behind El Cavador like a trolled fish line.
Then in a single, painful inhale of breath, his lungs expanded again. He took in air. His chest burned. His arm hurt. His suit was cold. His head was ringing. The air was stale.
“Father!”
There was no reply. He still had no power.
El Cavador was drifting awkwardly ahead of him, moving abnormally to the side, like a boat turned sideways in an unforgiving current. The twelve severed mooring cables hung loosely below the ship. Two more laser blasts hit sensors on the side of the ship, though Victor couldn’t see what they were. He was still spinning, flying, dazed, limp. Everything was happening too quickly.
Behind him, he saw the corporate ship fire its retros and slow down, coming to a stop right where El Cavador had been. They wanted the rock, Victor realized. The bastards had bumped them for the rock.
Victor rotated his body, trying to control the spinning. El Cavador was still in a dead float, moving away from him. His lifeline was still taut. He was probably forty meters from the ship. He pulled on the lifeline, using the momentum to stop the spinning. His body steadied. The spinning ceased. He could see Father clinging to the ship.
The siren started beeping in his helmet again. His heads-up display flickered to life. He had power. The auxiliary generators had kicked in.
“Victor!” It was Father’s voice.
“I’m here.” He was already hitting the propulsion trigger on his thumb, flying forward, hurrying toward the ship.
“Are you hurt?” Father asked.
Victor could see Father getting to his feet and then jumping from the ship, flying out toward him. Victor rotated his arm. It wasn’t broken. Or at least he didn’t think so. “No. I’m okay.”
El Cavador was still drifting. He and Father were coming at each other fast. Victor let up on his propulsion just as Father did. Even still, they collided, clinging to each other. Father scanned Victor’s helmet, looking for fractures. “You’re not hurt? You’re not leaking?”
“No.” He had never seen Father this rattled before. “You?”
“Fine. It’s Marco. Help me get him inside. He’s not responding.”
Only then did Victor realize that there was a second lifeline trailing behind the ship, albeit farther down the ship from his position. Marco’s line had snagged on one of the mooring braces, and Marco’s body was limp and lifeless. Father oriented himself and hit his propulsion trigger, flying straight toward Marco. Victor followed close behind him.
They reached Marco and anchored themselves to the ship. Marco’s body was limp and nonresponsive. They turned him over. His eyes were closed. His helmet was cracked, though it didn’t appear as if air was leaking.
“I don’t think he’s breathing,” said Father. He looked up, thinking, not sure what to do, then came to a decision. “Go open the hatch to the bay airlock. As soon as Marco and I come through, pull in the slack from our lifelines as fast as you can. Then come in after us and seal the hatch tight. You understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
Father got behind Marco and wrapped one arm around his chest and another around his waist. He was going to fly him in. “Go, Victor.”
Victor launched, pushing the thumb trigger down as far as it would go, hurtling straight to the airlock hatch that led into the cargo bay. The exterior siren lights were spinning, bathing the whole ship in rays of moving red. The damage was everywhere: scorch marks, stumps where equipment had been. Victor reached the hatch, opened it, then moved to the side. Father was coming up fast, carrying Marco’s limp body. Marco’s legs thumped against the frame of the hatch as he came through, but Marco showed no response. Victor followed them inside and began reeling in the slack from their lifelines, pulling hand over hand as fast as he could. Father was beside him now, pulling frantically. Finally it was all in. Victor sealed the hatch, and air immediately began pouring into the airlock to fill the vacuum.
“Help me anchor him to the ground,” said Father.
The lifeline slack was everywhere, floating all around them. Victor pushed as much of it to the side as he could, getting it out of the way. Then he hit the switch on Marco’s waist belt to initiate the magnet. He and Father lowered Marco’s body to the floor. Father grabbed two anchor straps and put one across Marco’s chest and another across his legs, anchoring him flat against the floor. By then the airlock was almost full of air.
“As soon as we get the all-clear,” said Father, “take his helmet off nice and slow. Don’t jerk it. We need to be easy with his neck.”
Victor nodded, and they both got into position.
Father looked at the time counter on the wall and saw that there were twenty seconds before the room was fully pressurized. “Close enough. Go.” Father began taking off his own helmet while Victor delicately unhinged Marco’s. When he finally got it off, the all-clear sounded, and the light above the exit to the cargo bay turned green.
Father felt Marco’s neck for a pulse while Victor fumbled to get his own helmet off.
“Call Isabella on your handheld,” said Father. “Get her here now. Tell her I can’t find a pulse and he’s not breathing.”
Victor’s hands were shaking as he dialed the code on his handheld. Marco was dying. Or maybe already dead. Father tilted Marco’s head slightly back and began giving him rescue breaths. Isabella didn’t respond.
“She’s not answering,” said Victor.
“She’s probably already treating people or moving to the fuge. Find her. Get her here now. Have her bring her kit if she has it with her. Go.”
Victor detached his lifeline and was up and out of the airlock in an instant, launching himself across the cargo bay to the hatch on the far side of the room. The siren was loud inside the ship, and only the emergency lights were on, leaving much of the room in darkness. No one was in the cargo bay, but Victor found plenty of people out in the hall, a main thoroughfare on the ship. Everyone was wearing their emergency air mask
s and moving down the hall toward the fuge in an orderly fashion as they had been trained. Babies and small children were crying behind their masks, but their parents held them close to their chests and spoke words of comfort. Everyone seemed alarmed, but Victor was pleased to see that no one was panicking. Most people were upright, wearing greaves, but a few like Victor were flying, calmly moving with the crowd.
Victor scanned the faces but didn’t see Isabella. Knowing her, she would be one of the last people to head for the fuge. As a trained nurse, she would stay behind and help anyone who had been injured in the collision, making sure everyone got to the fuge. She was the closest thing El Cavador had to a doctor, and she had even performed a few surgeries over the years, though only in life-threatening situations and always as a last resort.
Victor spotted a familiar face. “Edimar!”
Edimar saw him and pushed her way through the crowd to reach him. Her air mask covered her entire face. “What happened?” she asked. “Why are you in a pressure suit? Were you outside? Where’s your mask?”
“Have you seen Isabella?”
Edimar pointed back up the way she had come. “She was helping Abuelita. Why? Who’s hurt? What happened?”
Victor didn’t wait to answer. He was already away, pushing his way past people, going against traffic, using the handrail to pull himself forward. Edimar called after him, but he didn’t turn back. Several people shouted at him as he brushed past them, but Victor didn’t care. Marco was dying. He wasn’t breathing. Every second counted.
The deeper he went down the hall, the thinner the crowd became. With more room to move around, Victor began launching himself forward, moving faster, covering more ground. He reached Abuelita, his great-grandmother, who was being helped down the hall by two of his uncles. “Where’s Isabella?”
They pointed farther up the hall. Victor shot forward, panicked. There were very few people now. What if Isabella had gone into someone’s room to help them and Victor had passed it? Or what if she had taken another passageway down to the fuge and Victor had missed her?
He saw her. She was ahead in the hall, putting Victor’s cousin Nanita’s arm in a sling.
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