Earth Unaware

by Orson Scott Card

  “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.”

  Bahzím 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.”

  Bahzím 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 Bahzím. “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.”

  Bahzím 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 Bahzím, “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.”

  Bahzím shook his head again. “Those batteries don’t carry 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 Bahzím. “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 Bahzím 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, Concepción?” Bahzím asked.

  “Every word,” said Concepción, 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, Bahzím, 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 Bahzím 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 Bahzím, “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, Concepción 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.”

  Bahzím 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 and 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 Concepción at the bridge. “I can’t do it,” said Edimar. “I need help.”

  “What’s wrong?” said Concepción.

  “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 Concepción.

  “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 Concepción. “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.

  There was a noise in the tube that led to the crow’s nest, and Edimar quickly composed herself, wiping at her eyes and taking deep calming breaths.

  Three people floated into the room, and the sight of them further put Edimar at ease.

  “Give me a pair of goggles,” said Dreo. “I want to see the code on this thing.”

  Edimar handed him a pair. “It’s tagging every piece of debris as a collision threat. I need to create perimeters that will isolate only those objects that are indeed too close. But I don’t know how to do that.”

  Dreo had the goggles on. “All you need to do is write in a simple script. Toron didn’t teach you how to do that?”

  “I’m sure he knows how, but he doesn’t want me tinkering with the programming.”

  “Then he shouldn’t be leaving you alone,” said Dreo. “It’s irresponsible and puts all of us in danger. How old are you anyway?”

  Rena put an arm around Edimar’s shoulders. “Yes, yes, Dreo. Why don’t you worry about the Eye and let Mono and I tend to Edimar.”

  “Don’t give her all of that chili,” said Dreo.

  Rena was holding a container with a hot pad.

  “I could use some of that, too, you know,” said Dreo. “We haven’t eaten on the helm in hours.”

  “Fix this Eye, Dreo, without further harping on Toron or Edimar,” said Rena, “and I will make you your very own pot.”

  That put a smile of Dreo’s face. “I’ll be silent as space.”

  Rena took Edimar’s hand, and they flew over to the other side of the room with Mono.

  “Did my Father really leave on a quickship with Vico?” asked Edimar.

  “Yes,” said Rena. “And with my husband. They’re looking for more survivors.”

  Edimar bowed her head. “They won’t find any. It’s been too long.”

  “We don’t know that,” said Rena. “We didn’t ex
pect to find anyone when we got here, and so far we’ve found nine.”

  “Believe me,” said Mono. “If anyone can find more people, it’s Vico. He might even find Alejandra.”

  Rena tensed slightly at this and glanced awkwardly at Edimar. “We certainly hope so, Mono,” said Rena. “We’re all praying for that very thing.”

  Edimar wanted to feel bolstered by the boy’s innocent optimism, but she knew it was hopeless. And she could see that Rena thought so, too, only pretending to be optimistic for Edimar’s sake. “Here,” said Rena, handing Edimar the container of chili. “This is probably cool enough to eat. You must be famished.” She popped off the lid on the straw and the aroma of beans and meat and cilantro wafted up to Edimar, who suddenly realized how hungry she was.

  “Thank you,” said Edimar.

  “I can smell that, too, you know?” said Dreo. “You’re making it difficult to concentrate over here.”

  Edimar sucked up a mouthful. It was warm and spicy and exactly what she needed. She wanted to cry again. Rena seemed so much like Alejandra in that moment. Edimar knew it was silly to even think it—Rena was old enough to be Jandita’s mother—but the way she had pulled Edimar aside and showed her kindness was exactly what Alejandra would have done.

  “What kind of parameters should I set up in the program?” Dreo asked.

  “I wish Father were here,” said Edimar. “He would know better than me.”

  “Well, he isn’t,” said Dreo. “You have to decide.”

  Edimar thought for a moment. “Cancel out all the debris that’s beyond two hundred meters of our position yet within ten kilometers. That should cancel out most of the objects the Eye is tracking but pose no real threat to us. The one exception should be the quickship. We should continue to track that.”

  “I don’t know which of these objects is the quickship,” said Dreo. “I can’t isolate that.”

  Edimar put on her goggles and found the quickship easily. “That one,” said Edimar, moving the icon for the object into Dreo’s monitor field.