Somehow, he wasn’t quite sure how, he’d got chatting with them. It started with wry jokes about the smell arising from the tanks, and before long they were talking about Earth, about places and people they’d all known in the old pre-MOAD days. And while Alexei and Grigory were reminiscing about the ball-freezing winter weather back home, or maybe it was when Linda was talking about her shy, gifted son, one of them had reversed the flow of the sewage system, pulling water out of the settling tanks and sending it back upstream.
Contaminated a quarter of the hydroponics before the alarm was raised.
Which happened to include the tilapia tanks.
Which had killed every last one of those tough little fish whose great-great-great-grandparents had come all the way from Earth.
Which was why Jack and Alexei were eating MREs.
But that wasn’t the worst of it. When the contamination was discovered, Brbb and his friends had beaten Grigory and Linda to a pulp. This was not a mere figure of speech. No square inch of flesh remained un-bruised, cut, or abraded by their fists and nails. Same thing they’d done to Kate before they killed her.
Alexei had forgiven them for Kate. At least he had tried to. There used to be fourteen Krijistal in this platoon, not just eight; the rest had died, mostly at Alexei’s own hands, and if the survivors had forgiven him for that, could he do any less? They all had to work together.
But the sight of Grigory and especially Linda half-dead from the Krijistal’s tender attentions had triggered a weapons-grade flashback, and—as Skyler put it afterwards—Alexei had gone Spetsnaz on their asses. It was lucky all he’d had to hand was a socket wrench, or there would be even fewer Krijistal on the ship now.
Everyone snaps at some point, but Alexei had thought he’d be the one who never snapped. Guilt dogged him. He chopped up his entrée with the side of his fork. Designed to be eaten in freefall, it was a solid slab that bore very little resemblance to beef bourgogné.
“God, this pudding is horrible,” Jack said. He examined the wrapper. “Banana cream pie. I remember having this on the ISS. It tasted better then. I suppose it’s just been too long since I ate anything sweet.”
“You’re gonna love the food in jail,” said a voice from behind Jack. Although slurred and nasal, owing to the effects of a broken nose, it recognizably belonged to Linda.
They’d tied her up with EVA tethers and secured her, like a dog—Alexei’s mind shrank from the comparison—to the legs of the kitchen cabinets, the only permanently fixed furniture in the hab. Those strong, lightweight poles went right down into the floor.
Ostensibly ignoring Linda, Jack said, “Well, we weren’t really expecting to go home again, anyway.” He pushed away his tray and wrapped his hands around his mug of tea.
“It’s not too late, Jack,” Grigory wheezed. He was tied to the other side of the cabinets. His voice sounded even worse than Linda’s. “Take the SoD to the moon. Save the human race.”
The sides of Jack’s nose went white with the effort of ignoring Grigory. He said to Alexei, “It’s the Cloudeater they want. Same old story. People will lie, kill, and betray their friends for alien technology.”
“It’s a little more complicated than that,” Alexei said. Grigory had admitted it while they were chatting in SLS. “They were going to use the SoD as an orbital weapons platform. Point the railguns at CELL. Fire a warning shot or two. Make the Earth Party guys leave. Then land the Cloudeater and the Victory near CELL, walk in, and take over.”
Pretty much what Alexei had first guessed, in fact. His GRU-trained instincts had been on target.
“The CELL guys would have quickly found out what happens when you accept gifts from the government.”
Jack shook his head half-admiringly. “They really are cunts, aren’t they?”
Alexei figured he meant the American and Russian governments, which had cooked up the Trojan spaceship scheme between them. He nodded in agreement, although part of him thought it was rather a good plan. That’s why he’d let himself get distracted from what Grigory was doing with the settling tanks. When the SoD reached Earth, they’d lob their remaining plutonium rounds at the Lightbringer. Suppose it all went as planned—a long shot, but possible. Suppose they destroyed the alien planet-killer. Then what? Grigory had warned him that all four of the SoD’s crew would face life in jail. Alexei didn’t fancy that. And he couldn’t stand the idea of being separated from Nene. What would happen to her? And the other rriksti? CELL offered a faint gleam of hope …
… as well as one deal-breaking drawback.
“They wanted the SoD’s guns and the Cloudeater’s technology, but they didn’t want the rriksti. Or us.”
Jack’s mouth twisted. He sipped his tea. “It’s good to have real tea again. Now all I need is real milk.”
“There won’t be any more tea after the Lightbringer comes,” Linda said, from behind the cabinets. “There won’t be any more milk. But there may be people. If CELL makes it.”
Alexei got up and went to fix himself a cup of coffee. He shared Jack’s sentiment that real tea and coffee were the best things to come off the Victory. He could see the top of Linda’s head through the gap beside the hot-water dispenser. Blood crusted her hairline. Sitting on the floor, facing away from him, she didn’t know he was watching her. She stared emptily at the trellis of broad beans in front of her.
“I see people all around me,” Jack said behind Alexei, so quietly that Alexei wasn’t sure he’d been meant to hear. “They’ve just got more fingers and toes.”
Alexei stirred a packet of liquid creamer into his Nescafe and sat down at the table again. It was weird to be able to stretch his legs out under there, with no fish tanks getting in the way.
“How’s Nene?” Jack said.
Alexei choked on his coffee.
Jack scowled. “I feel quite betrayed, Alexei. I can’t believe you never said anything. It’s almost as bad as that time you deleted my copy of The Meaning of Life to free up disk space for Spaceballs.”
“Come on. Spaceballs is the best comedy about a spaceship in the history of comedies about spaceships.”
“That’s a very small category, and by the way, on this ship you’re to refer to me as ‘idiot,’ not ‘you captain.’”
“I didn’t want you to look at me with that look you look at people with.”
“I’m not that stupid.”
“I’m the stupid one. I should change my name to Asshole.”
“How many assholes have we got on this ship, anyway?”
There was a short silence, broken only by the sound of spoon on mug as Jack pointlessly stirred his tea. Presently Jack said, “Maybe you feel as though you’ve let Kate down?”
“No,” Alexei said immediately. The suggestion surprised him. It proved how far Jack was from understanding his relationship with Nene. He tried to explain. “This is completely different. Kate meant a lot to me. No one could compare to her. But that’s my point, there is no comparison.” He glanced at the cabinets. Grigory needed to hear this, too. “Drinking tea is not like chopping firewood.”
“Huh?”
“Apples, apples and …
“Oranges. Apples and oranges.”
“Yes. Both things are good and beautiful, and you cannot compare one to the other.” Alexei thumped his chest, getting a bit Russian. “She understands my soul.”
“That’s fantastic,” Jack said. “I could not be happier for you. But how’s the nooky?”
They put their cups in the wash-bucket and their trays in the recycling. They had yet to figure out what the Cloudeater’s upcycler could do with MRE waste, but it would probably come in handy at some point.
As they left the kitchen, Koichi came into the tent, followed by Fewl and Difystra. “Hey, guys!”
Koichi had raised the alarm after Grigory and Linda reversed the flow of the sewage. Apparently he had known what they were planning, but had decided at the last minute that he couldn’t go along with it.
&nb
sp; If not for Koichi’s attack of conscience, they might have lost a lot more of the hydroponics. So he didn’t get tied up, although Jack had told the Krijistal to keep a close eye on him.
“Got the therapeutic laser,” Koichi said, holding up an aluminum case. “The squids are taking our ship apart. Um. Anyway. Should I get started now?”
“Might as well,” Jack said neutrally.
They squeezed through the plants and around the back of the cabinets to where Linda was sitting. She raised her face and spat at Koichi. The Japanese astronaut’s head jerked back. He pulled his arm across his cheek.
“Come on, Linda,” Jack said. “Where are your manners? He’s trying to help you.”
“Fuck off and die,” Linda said. “Traitor.”
Koichi hunched his shoulders. He opened the aluminum case and took out a power source, a cable, and a wand with a rubber pad on the end. “MLS laser,” he muttered. “Works on abrasions, edema, and so forth. Brings down inflammation. Pain relief, too.”
“Nifty,” Jack said. “They didn’t give us one of those.”
“We’ve got a lot of stuff that wasn’t developed, or wasn’t available, when you launched.”
Alexei watched Koichi apply the laser wand to Linda’s cuts and abrasions, keeping it a few inches away from her skin. This technology might be state-of-the-art on Earth, but it could only do so much. Fewl and Difystra opened their mouths, no doubt reflecting, as Alexei was, that they could have fixed Linda and Grigory up in just a few minutes.
Could have … but would not. Nene had refused, too. Alexei couldn’t blame her. Grigory and Linda had tried, twice, to murder every rriksti on board.
“When you finish, can we punish them again?” Difystra said.
Koichi had been given a headset so that he could communicate with the rriksti, although he he had yet to use it to talk to them. He cringed.
“Don’t worry, he’s just joking,” Jack said. “Aren’t you, Difystra?” The tall rriksti shied from Jack’s nudging elbow.
“Go do Grigory,” Linda said. “They hurt him worse than me.”
It was true. Around the other side of the L-shaped wall of cabinet, Grigory lay on the floor, eyes closed. His breath wheezed fitfully. Koichi pulled his limbs this way and that to apply the MLS laser to his injuries.
Jack squatted near Grigory’s head. “You said CELL is an ark,” he hissed. “You’re completely deluded. Oh, I can see how it looks from Earth. It looks like the adverts on the news. Hot and cold running water and a playschool and a dog grooming salon and God knows what. But this is space. Back in spring, a ball bearing nearly killed everyone on this ship.” Jack pinched his fingers together to illustrate its small size, and planed his hand through the air until it landed on Grigory’s shoulder. “A fucking ball bearing. This is an ark, if you like. And everyone on board could have been killed by a ball bearing. Don’t try to tell me the moon would be any different.”
Grigory groaned, “Long shot … better than no chance. Survival of the species …”
“Is paramount. I fully agree.” Jack stood up. “That is why we’re going to catch the Lightbringer … and blow it into radioactive dust.”
CHAPTER 34
It was too hot to work, so Skyler was doing astrophysics.
98° F in the shade.
In the shade of the Victory, that is, where rriksti were prying edible electronics out of the walls by the light of the emergency LEDs, and Skyler, flashlight strapped behind his ear, watched priceless scientific data flow in through the ship’s external Ethernet connection.
Supervising the cannibalization of the small ship last week, he’d discovered a ton of scientific instruments. The space agencies had given the Victory every kind of ‘eyes’ they could think of, perhaps hoping they would give the crew advance warning of any nasty HERF-style surprises.
“What a bunch of tools,” Skyler had said to Hriklif as they boarded the Victory. The ship had been a complete mess. The Krijistal had ripped open all the boxes looking for the Shit We Need that wasn’t there. Powdered eggs and green smoothie mix swirled towards the vents from torn vacuum packs. Skyler had rubbed his eyes.
“What are you doing?” Hriklif said.
“Shedding a tear at man’s inhumanity to man. OK, that’s done.” Skyler smirked. “Check out those instruments!”
Particle detectors, a centimeter-band RF receiver, high- and low-energy proton monitors, and a bunch of other goodies. Skyler had got Hriklif to write DO NOT EAT on them in Rristigul, and earlier today, because it was too hot to do any real work, they had scrounged a long pole and mounted the best of the instruments on it. The Victory was in the shade of Jack’s giant aluminum umbrella. Couldn’t see shit from back here, so they had to stick the instruments out on the end of a boom.
Pointing at their object of study.
The sun.
“No human being,” Skyler said, “has ever had the opportunity to observe the sun from this close up.”
The Victory was an oven. Although they’d cranked the little ship’s reactor output down to 2%, its radiators were having trouble dumping enough heat overboard, as hot solar wind snuck around the umbrella, raising the temperature even in the shade.
“Neither has any rriksti,” Hriklif said, his eyes reflective in the darkness.
The two had become close friends as they shared responsibility for monitoring the SoD’s reactor, and now the Victory’s as well. Largely on account of Hriklif, Skyler had quit the battle of the pronouns. He it was.
“We’re probably all going to die anyway,” Skyler predicted. “So we might as well get some science done.” He sighed, watching the numbers pour in. He’d set up the main computer to show the most interesting readouts in sine-wave graph format. “In the old days we’d have killed for data like this. We had ACE and SOHO orbiting at the L1 Lagrange point, but neither of them got anything like this level of detail.”
“They sold our mission as a scientific mission,” Hriklif said. “That’s why the Lightsiders signed up. It was supposed to unify the Darkside and the Lightside after the war. Think of the discoveries to be made! they said. Imagine the scientific gains! That’s why I signed up.”
Hriklif was a Lightsider, which went a long way to explain his oddball status among the rriksti on board.
“Of course, the Darksiders knew the truth all along,” he added glumly. “We are not warlike—that’s what they always say. And we keep falling for it.”
“I can think of a lot of people like that on Earth,” Skyler said. “I used to be an astrophysicist, you know. I should have stayed in academia.”
“My girlfriend was a student,” Hriklif said. Skyler understood that Hriklif was using both of the terms—girlfriend and student—loosely. Student was a lifelong occupation on Imf, and Hriklif actually used to be one himself, while girlfriend apparently meant a female you slept with on the weekend. “I used to sneak into her dorm in the middle of the week,” Hriklif said, laughing with his hair, and giving the lie to his own definition. But Skyler knew that Hriklif had been crazy about this long-dead rriksti female, and still dwelt on his loss eighty years later, which was pretty freaking sad, but then again, who was Skyler to throw stones? He still dwelt on his bygone non-relationship with the Lightbringer’s new Shiplord.
“We’d better winch the boom back in soon,” he said. “The instruments are gonna melt if we leave them out there too long.” He peered at the readouts. “Looks like the radiometer is already melting.”
“What?”
“Look at that: that’s weird.”
The radiometer had picked up a spike in the energy distribution of incoming protons.
“It’s like a narrow section of the incoming flux suddenly got very active.” Skyler tracked the spike with his eyes as it travelled towards the left side of the screen. “2023 is a big year for solar flares …”
Which made this the worst possible year to be swinging around the sun. Skyler had saved the SoD by disabling the malware, and now Jack was
going to kill them all by cooking the ship in neutron flux. At least they were breaking new scientific ground in the meantime.
“Could this be a type of precursor flare we haven’t seen before?” he pondered aloud.
The old, nearly-forgotten thrill of the quest for scientific knowledge came back. He could almost taste the sweetness of discovery. He pictured his name in lead author position on the paper to follow … the accolades, the career opportunities … and then he remembered that civilization was due to be blotted out in two months, so there’d be no prestigious scientific journals to publish papers in anymore. Well, crap.
“That’s our comms maser,” Hriklif said.
“Oh. Are you sure?”
“Yes, these are stimulated ions blowing back in the solar wind. If this instrument had better resolution, we could read the message.”
“Bang goes my paper in Astronomy,” Skyler sighed. “Well, we’d better winch the instruments in.”
They donned their suits and went out. It was pitch-dark in the shade of the umbrella, as the SoD and its smaller companions were pointed straight at the sun, but the edge of the umbrella, ahead of the ships, caught the sunlight. It etched a dazzling circle on the void, so that they seemed to be flying straight into a solar eclipse. Beautiful, and frightening.
Skyler concentrated on operating the winches they’d attached to the Victory’s truss. The boom hinged back down like a flagpole flying a luminous crimson flower. The steel casings of the instruments glowed red-hot. Skyler whistled.
Hriklif said, “I cannot work out why he was using the comms maser.”
“Who?”
“Keelraiser, of course.”
Skyler knew that Hriklif had a complicated relationship with the rriksti pilot. It seemed to have started off as hero-worship, and soured as Keelraiser’s feet of clay inevitably came to light. The demands of survival on Europa may have papered over their differences, but ever since they boarded the SoD, Hriklif had been allowing himself more and more comments critical of his supposed boss. (Boss, too, was a slippery term with the rriksti. They managed to be both feudal and Orwellian at the same time.)
Shiplord: A First Contact Technothriller (Earth's Last Gambit Book 3) Page 23