Earth Unaware (First Formic War) (27 page)

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 expect 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.

“All right,” said Dreo. “The quickship is still on the watch list. What else?”

“Now we’re primarily looking at debris within two hundred meters of us,” said Edimar. “Plus whatever we can see beyond the debris cloud.”

“That’s still over eight hundred objects,” said Dreo.

“Most of the objects are merely drifting, though,” said Edimar, “so we really don’t have to worry about the small ones. They won’t damage the ship. It’s the big ones we have to track. Cancel out all debris that’s less than two meters in length. That should remove all small debris and bodies from the watch list.” She remembered that Mono was listening and removed her goggles enough to glance at him.

“I know what a dead body is,” said Mono. “You don’t have to talk different just because I’m here.”

“Takes you down to fifty-three objects,” said Dreo. “Much less than you started with.”

“Can you put the objects in order of priority based on their distance from the ship?” asked Edimar.

“Done,” said Dreo.

Edimar adjusted her goggles and smiled at the list. This was certainly more manageable. This she could handle, even without Father’s help. She started at the top and scanned down to the bottom. The last object on the list instantly wiped the smile from her face. It was only a few thousand kilometers out and moving in their direction at incredible speed.

“What is it?” asked Rena. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s the pod,” said Edimar. “It’s coming back.”

CHAPTER 12

Tech

Captain Wit O’Toole moved through the forest under the cover of night. His footfalls were soft and silent. His P87 assault rifle was at his shoulder. His body was slightly crouched, keeping a low center of gravity. His helmet had no visor or eye slits but covered his face completely with blast-resistant metal. His body armor was lightweight and camouflaged for darkness. Beside him, six MOPs in identical gear, carrying identical weapons, kept pace with him as he advanced up the slope of the Parvati Valley in northern India, weaving through the pine and fir trees as quiet as the wind.

Inside Wit’s helmet, his HUD projected a 180-degree view of the terrain in front of him, as bright as if it were day, allowing him to see every detail of the forest. The computer helped further by flagging any obstacles in his path. A root, a low branch, a patch of uneven ground.

A female computer voice said, “One hundred meters to target.”

“Full stop,” said Wit.

The six MOPs stopped their advance and moved into a tight circle, dropping to one knee with their backs to one another, rifles up, covering their position from every approach. It was a simple tactical move, but it was done swiftly and silently, without hesitation or missteps, as fluid as a practiced dance.

“We’re a hundred meters from the target,” said Wit. “Now what?”

“Threat assessment,” said Bogdanovich.

“How?” asked Wit.

“Satellite feed,” said Lobo, “I’ll patch us in.”

A window popped up on Wit’s HUD showing an overhead view of their position taken from a satellite. Wit blinked out a command, and the satellite image shifted, scrolling upward over the treetops in the direction the team was headed. The tree line ended, and a wide meadow came into view. A concrete two-story building, with an almost bunkerlike appearance, stood in the center of the meadow. The Indian military had built it here for military exercises like this one. Several armed guards patrolled the perimeter.

“What a lovely mountain resort,” said Pinetop.

“The brochure said five stars,” said Lobo.

Tonight’s mission was a rescue operation. Calinga was acting the part of a foreign diplomat being held hostage by Islamist extremists. The extremists were actually fellow MOPs and Indian PCs eager to play the bad guys for once.