Earth unaware

CHAPTER 18

Formics

Two heads floated in the holospace in front of Concepcion: Lem Jukes and Captain Doashang of the WU-HU Corporation. Their ships were still several days away from intercepting the Formic ship, but they were now close enough to each other that a three-way conference was possible without much interference. Concepcion, despite feeling exhausted and suffering through a flare-up of arthritis in more places than she cared to count, put her best face forward in the holospace. Let them see my eyes and know that we as a family will not fail them.

There were introductions. Doashang seemed a most capable captain. Lem Jukes had an air of his father about him, which was to say confident in a way that was both alluring and off-putting at the same time. He was in his mid-thirties if Concepcion had to guess. A child, really. Less than half her age. Goodness she was old. She had still been on Earth when she was that age, working in her father’s bodega in Barinitas, Venezuela, convinced that she would be stuck there in the heat and dust for the rest of her life, selling cold bottles of malta to the banana farmers as they came down from the fields.

How wrong she had been.

After the introductions, Lem wasted no time getting into tactics. He had surprised Concepcion by accepting the call to help so readily, and Concepcion had assumed that it was Lem’s conquering spirit-his need to subdue and bully-that had motivated him. But now, as he offered up ideas and showed concern for the safety of the other ships as well as his own, it occurred to Concepcion that perhaps Lem’s compulsion to help might be driven by a genuine desire to protect Earth. That put Concepcion’s mind at ease. Selfish motivations led to abandonment and betrayal in a fight, and if any of them hoped to survive, they would have to trust each other implicitly.

“If the pod took direct hits from the Italians and suffered no visible damage,” Lem said, “we can only assume that the main ship has the same shielding.”

“We won’t win this with lasers,” said Concepcion. “The moment we open fire, the Formics will know we’re there. The instant they’re aware of us, we’re in trouble. They could vent their weapons like they did near Weigh Station Four, and we wouldn’t know what hit us.”

“Then how will we attack them?” asked Doashang.

“The Italians couldn’t damage the pod with laser fire,” said Concepcion, “but a few of my men were able to land on the pod and cripple its sensors and equipment with tools.”

“There are no sensors or equipment on the surface of the Formic ship,” said Lem. “It’s smooth. There’s nothing to attack. Besides, it’s moving at a hundred and ten thousand kilometers per hour. Are you suggesting we put men on the surface of that ship at that speed?”

“That’s exactly what I’m suggesting,” said Concepcion. “The only way we know of to penetrate their shielding is to be on the surface, right there on the hull. We know the surface of the pod was magnetic, so there is a high probability that the surface of the main ship will be as well. If our men are equipped with magnets, they could crawl on the surface of the ship and plant explosives. We could set these on a timer with enough of a delay to get our men back to our ships and to move the ships a safe distance away. If we’re lucky, we can get in and out without the Formics even knowing we were there.”

“That avoids a firefight,” said Doashang. “I like that aspect.”

“What if the hull is so strong that explosives don’t damage it?” asked Lem. “We don’t know what material the ship is made of. It could be impervious to attack. It could be ten meters thick.”

“If that’s the case, then nothing we do can stop them,” said Concepcion. “But we won’t know that until we at least try. And if the hull is impenetrable, then we’ve learned something valuable. That’s intelligence that will help whoever fights them next.”

“I’m assuming you have explosives,” said Lem.

“I’m assuming all of us have explosives,” said Concepcion. “Don’t you occasionally use explosives to break up surface rock or open up a shaft?”

“I’ll have to check with our quartermaster,” said Lem.

“Aren’t you outfitted?” asked Concepcion. “You very forcefully took our dig site. I assumed you wanted it for mining purposes. What were you going to do with it if not extract minerals?”

There was an awkward silence. Doashang looked back and forth between them.

“I’ll check with our quartermaster,” Lem repeated.

“You do that,” said Concepcion. “Because the more explosives we plant, the more damage we’ll obviously inflict.”

“How would this work?” asked Doashang. “How do we safely get men onto the surface of the ship after we match its speed?”

“We make ziplines using mooring cables,” said Concepcion. “Then we fire cables with magnetic anchors down to its surface. When the cables are secure, our miners clip onto the line and fly down to the surface with their propulsion packs. They can’t be wearing lifelines because we can’t fly that close to the Formic ship. But they could wear portable oxygen and batteries. They plant the explosives, crawl back to the mooring cable, then they either fly back up or we pull them up with the winch.”

“That’s a lot of moving parts,” said Doashang. “A thousand things could go wrong. What if the magnetic anchor hitting the ship alerts them? Or what if the surface of the ship can detect movement?”

“Possibilities,” said Concepcion. “But unlikely. When we attacked the pod, the Formics only surfaced after we had damaged their equipment. We literally crashed into the side of them and spent several minutes on their hull before they responded.”

She was silent then, letting them mull it over.

Finally Doashang said, “I don’t have a better idea. And I agree that stealth is best. We don’t have a winch on our ship, though. So we’d be no help with the cables.”

“Actually I was going to suggest that your ship stay out of the fight entirely,” said Concepcion.

“Why?” asked Lem.

“One of us needs to stay behind,” said Concepcion. “The intelligence we have is too important to die with us. We sent one of our crewmen to Luna with much of this intel, but we have no way of knowing if he’ll arrive alive or if anyone will take him seriously. If this attack fails, someone needs to communicate everything we know with Earth. I suggest that be your ship, Captain Doashang. You can record everything from a distance. We can load all of the women and children from our ship onto yours prior to the attack in the event that something happens to us.”

“I agree,” said Lem. “Your ship is the smallest and least armored, Captain Doashang. If anyone stays back it should be you.”

Doashang sighed. “I don’t like being an observer. But I agree that everything we know must be relayed to Earth. If I’m to take on your noncombatants and children, we’ll have to dock our ships in flight at high speed, which is dangerous. We can’t decelerate to dock or we’ll never catch the Formic ship.”

“We’ll have to trust our computers and pilots,” said Concepcion. “I’ll have our crew make preparations immediately.”

Rena went to the docking hatch at the designated time, carrying a small bag with a single change of clothes. Segundo stood beside her, an arm around her shoulders. There was commotion all around them: infants crying, mothers shushing them, small children flying about despite their parents’ stern commands to be quiet and still. A few of the women were crying too, particularly the younger mothers and brides, clinging to their husbands who were staying behind. Rena refused to cry. To cry was to acknowledge that something terrible might happen, that this parting between her and Segundo could be their last, and she refused to believe it.

The proximity alarm went off, startling her. It meant the WU-HU ship was close now, preparing to dock. Frightened children flew into their parents’ arms, and everyone watched the docking hatch at the end of the corridor. The hatch was solid steel without windows, but Rena stared at it as if she could see the approaching ship on the other side.

Segundo’s hand went to his handheld and turned off the alarm. Silence retuned to the corridor, then Segundo’s voice was loud. “There may be a jolt when they dock. Everyone get close to a wall and hold on to something.”

Parents immediately pulled their children in close and floated to one of the walls, clinging to a pipe or a handhold. Segundo and Rena moved to a corner and anchored themselves.

“Docking the ships like this is ridiculously dangerous,” said Rena quietly, and not for the first time.

“It’s necessary,” said Segundo.

“It is not necessary. We should be staying on the ship. Or at least I should. There’s no reason for me to go. I don’t have small children. Our only son isn’t even on the ship anymore. I should be staying with you. I’m useless on that ship.”

“You’re not useless,” said Segundo. “You have a talent for comforting others. These women need you, Rena, now more than ever. You can be a strength to them.”

“I can just as easily be a strength to you.”

He smiled. “And you always will be. But you can’t be by my side through this. I won’t be on the ship.”

She turned her head away from him. She didn’t want him speaking about the attack. She knew the particulars; he had told her the plan and the risks he would be taking, but she didn’t want to think about it. To think about it was to imagine every possible thing that could go wrong.

He put his arm around her waist again. She turned back to him and saw that he was smiling at her gently. It was the smile he always gave her when he realized it was pointless to argue with her and he was conceding defeat. Only this time he couldn’t concede. She couldn’t stay. It would cause a panic. Other women would then insist on it, and those with children who wanted to be near their husbands would then be torn. Leaving would suddenly look like abandonment and not a command they were forced to obey.

Rena felt safe right then. Despite the docking, despite the hormigas or Formics or whatever they were called now, she felt safe with his arm around her. She had wanted to argue with him and to object again to the whole stupid affair, but his smile had burned away the fight in her.

There was a violent jolt as the WU-HU ship touched down, and several people screamed. The lights flickered. Rena put a hand to her mouth, stifling her own cry. Then it was over. The ship steadied, and for a moment all was quiet. Muffled noises then sounded on the other side of the docking hatch as someone secured a seal and pressurized the airlock.

The light above the hatch turned from red to green, and two sharp knocks clanged on the hatch. Bahzim opened the hatch, and an Asian man floated through. His uniform suggested that he was the captain, and Concepcion approached him and greeted him. Words were exchanged, though Rena couldn’t hear. Concepcion then turned to everyone in the corridor and said, “Captain Doashang here has taken a great risk to dock with us, and we appreciate his kindness in taking you onto his ship until this matter is over. Please show him the same courtesy you have always shown me. Now let’s do this quickly. Single file, keep the line moving.”

The people closest to the hatch began to gather their things and move.

Rena suddenly felt panicked. It was happening. They were moving already. She hadn’t said good-bye. This was too quick. She turned to Segundo. He was looking down at her. He put his hands on her arms and smiled in that disarming way again, the way that blocked out everything and everyone around her, that look of his that could silence all the world for her.

People around them were moving into position, getting into line.

Rena ignored them. There were a million things she wanted to say to him-nothing that hadn’t been said already every day of their married lives, nothing that he didn’t already know. But still she wanted to say them. Yet “love” suddenly felt like such a small word. It wasn’t love that she felt for him. It was something much greater, something that she didn’t have a word for.

He slid something into her hand. She looked down. It was two letters sealed in envelopes. Her name was written on one. The other was for Victor. Her tears came instantly. No, she was not taking letters. A letter is what husbands write to their wives when they don’t think they’re coming back. And he was coming back. This wasn’t good-bye. She wouldn’t even entertain the thought. She shook her head, pushed the letters back into his hand, and closed his fingers around them.

“You can read me that when this is over,” she said. “And you can give that letter to our son someday.”

He smiled but seemed a little hurt.

“I’ll make you dinner,” she said, wiping at her eyes. “Then we’ll squeeze into a hammock, and you can read me every word. Nothing would make me happier.”

“Aren’t you curious to know what it says now?”

She put a hand on his cheek. “I already know what it says, mi cielo. And I feel the same way.”

He nodded. His true smile returned. He put the letters back in his jacket. “I get to pick the hammock,” he said. “A very small hammock. It may be crowded. You’ll have to float very close.”

She embraced him, holding him tight, wetting his shirt with her tears.

The line was moving. Half of the people were already gone.

“You better go,” he told her.

She cleared her throat and composed herself. What was she doing crying like this? She took a deep breath and wiped at her eyes. This was absurd. She was overreacting. Everything was going to be fine. He took her bag and offered her his arm.

“I can carry my own bag, silly,” she said. “It’s weightless.”

“Never deny a man his chivalry,” said Segundo.

She shrugged, relenting, then linked her arm in his and let him escort her to the hatch.

When they reached the hatch, he gave her back her bag. The line never stopped moving. Their arms parted. She was going through; there was no time to stop. She looked back and saw him once before she was forced to turn a corner. A hand took hers and gently pulled her into the WU-HU ship. It was a female member of the crew, young and Chinese and beautiful. “Hu a nying,” the woman said. And then in English, “Welcome.”

“Thank you,” said Rena.

The lights on the WU-HU ship were brighter than she was accustomed to. She squinted, letting her eyes adjust. The ship was sleek and modern, with tech everywhere, nothing like El Cavador. She moved to where the other mothers and children were gathered, giving words of comfort and embraces where she knew they were needed.

The hatch closed. The two ships separated. The crew moved Rena and the others to their quarters. The rooms were small, but everyone would have a hammock at least, and besides, it was only for a few days. Rena moved to place her bag in the designated compartment and saw that the bag was open. Odd. She was sure she had closed it. She looked inside and found items she hadn’t packed. Two sealed envelopes. One addressed to her, the other addressed to Victor.

Mono wasn’t getting on the WU-HU ship. Of that he was certain. He had come to the docking hatch with Mother and all of the other women and children, but just because he was nine and small and technically a child didn’t mean he couldn’t help on El Cavador. Hadn’t Victor told him that he would have to step up and help Segundo more? Wasn’t that his job? Who would do the small-hand work for Segundo if the ship needed repairs? No, he was staying. He had a duty. Except for one problem. Mother. She was holding his hand like a vice. For this to work, Mono was going to have to lie. And he hated lying, especially to Mother.

He watched as the docking hatch opened, and the WU-HU captain floated into El Cavador. The man spoke briefly with Concepcion, and then Concepcion made an announcement. Show the captain respect. Be good. Blah blah blah. The same instruction every adult always gave. Of course everyone would be good. We’ll be staying on someone else’s ship. Guest rules. Everybody knows that.

Except Mono wouldn’t be staying there. He’d be staying right here. He turned to Mother and saw that she was crying. Not openly, not big tears like girls his age would shed just so an adult would come running, but real tears, quiet tears, the ones Mother never wanted Mono to see.

He squeezed her hand and spoke gently. “It’s going to be all right, Mother.”

She wiped her face, smiled, and lowered herself so they were eye to eye. “Of course it will, Monito. Mother is being a blubbery boo.” It was a word she used whenever he caught her crying this way, and he smiled. He knew he was probably too old for such childish words, but they always helped Mother stop crying when she said them, and so Mono didn’t mind.

He noticed then how the other women were clinging to their husbands and saying their good-byes. Mother had no one. Father had gotten sick when Mono was too young to remember, and the medicine Father had needed hadn’t been on board.

Mono watched as Mother gathered their things and moved into the line, still wiping at her eyes. How could he leave her now? She would be terrified to discover him not on the ship. It would break her heart. She would be furious.

But hadn’t she told him that he was the man of the house? Hadn’t she called him her little protector? Always in a way that was cute, yes, always in a way that suggested she really didn’t mean it. But wasn’t it true? He was the man of the house. He was her protector. And if he could prove that to her, if he could make it real for her, maybe she wouldn’t cry so much. Maybe all the sadness she felt for Father would go away.

“I want to go to the front of the line with Zapa,” said Mono. Zapaton, or Big Shoes, was a boy Mono’s age-probably his best friend if you didn’t count Victor or Mother or Segundo.

“Stay with me, Monito.”

“Please. I want to see inside the ship.”

“We’ll be in the ship in a moment.”

“But Zapa’s father gave him a handheld that has a Chinese translator on it so we could greet the crew in Chinese.”

It was a lie. And it was the lowest of lies to use on Mother. He knew that if he inserted another child’s father into the story, if he made it seem like he was missing out on some privilege or opportunity because he had no father to give him such things, Mother would relent.

She sighed, annoyed. “Stay where I can see you.”

Mono didn’t wait for her to change her mind. He launched upward, grabbed a handhold, turned his body, launched again, and landed beside Zapa, who was sniffling and wiping at his eyes.

“What are you crying for?” asked Mono.

“My papito. He’s staying behind.” Zapa had six bothers and sisters, all of whom were ahead of him in line, as was his mother.

“I need you to pretend that I came with you on the ship,” said Mono.

Zapa wiped his nose across his sleeve. “What?”

“I’m not getting on the WU-HU ship, but I need you to make it look like I did.”

“You’re not getting on the ship?”

“Listen. When you get inside, my mother is going to come looking for me. Tell her I’m in the bathroom.”

“Which bathroom?”

“The bathroom on the WU-HU ship.”

“But you said you weren’t getting on the WU-HU ship.”

“I won’t be in the bathroom, meathead. I’ll be here, hiding on El Cavador.”

Zapa’s eyes widened. “Are you stupid? You’re going to get me in trouble.”

“I need to stay and help. Just tell my mother I took the handheld with the translator into the bathroom to study Chinese.”

Zapa made a face. “You’re talking loco, Mono. Esta tostao.”

“Just tell her.”

They reached the hatch. Mono looked back. Mother was talking to someone else, not paying attention. Mono stepped away from the line and hid behind some crates as Zapa and his family went through the hatch. Mono stayed there, not moving until long after the hatch closed and the WU-HU ship flew away.

Lem brought up the rendering of the Formic ship and enlarged it as much as he could in the holospace over his desk in his room. Benyawe and Chubs floated nearby, watching him. “Why not simply shoot the thing with the glaser?” asked Lem. “Why not blast the Formics to smithereens and be done with it? None of this flying down to the surface and planting explosives. We fire the glaser and turn the ship to dust.”

“It wouldn’t work,” said Benyawe. “The Formic ship is too big and too dense. The glaser wasn’t designed for that type of mass. It was designed for rocks.”

“Asteroids are filled with dense metals,” said Lem. “Compositionally they’re essentially the same thing.”

“Let’s not forget what happened that last time we fired the glaser,” said Benyawe. “It’s too unstable. We have no idea what type of gravity field would result, if any at all. Nor can we assume that the same metals we find in asteroids are the ones used to construct this ship. The Formics may use alloys unlike any we’ve ever seen. All we know is that the surface of that ship is designed to resist collisions and high radiation at near-lightspeed, which means they’re incredibly strong. Far stronger than any asteroid.”

“If that’s the case, then what good will explosives do?” asked Chubs.

“How the ship responds to the explosives will tell us a great deal about the hull’s strength,” said Benyawe. “But that’s not the only reason why I question the glaser. Consider our speed. We’re traveling at a hundred and ten thousand kilometers per hour. The glaser wasn’t built for that. If we extended it out of the ship to fire, it would likely be struck by something and ripped to shreds. Even tiny space particles would render it useless. It was designed to fire from a stationary position. Our spacesuits have heavy shielding. The glaser doesn’t.”

“Then we build some shielding for it,” said Lem. “You’re engineers. You figure it out.”

“Easier said than done,” said Benyawe. “This would require time we don’t have and resources we may not have.”

“We’ve got four cargo bays full of metal cylinders,” said Lem. “You have all the metal you need.”

“Yes, which would require smelting and reshaping and building,” said Benyawe. “We’re engineers, Lem. We’re not manufacturers. We draw up plans. Someone else makes them.”

“Free miners can build engines with space junk and bonding glue,” said Lem. “Surely we can build a shield for the glaser.”

“I am not a free miner,” said Benyawe. “I wish I had the capabilities you’d like me to have, but I don’t. We can poll the crew and perhaps find people with all the skills required, but again, the glaser is not the answer, even with shielding. In all likelihood, all the glaser would do is alert the Formics of our presence and seal our own doom. We’d accomplish nothing, and they would blow us to dust before we knew what hit us.”

“Well then,” said Lem. “That’s a pessimistic position if ever I heard one.”

“You asked for my scientific opinion,” said Benyawe, “and as an engineer on the very weapon you want to use, I’m giving it to you. You’re the captain, Lem. You’re the one who will decide, not me. I’m merely giving you considerations so that you can make an informed decision.”

Lem sighed. “I know. I’m being a snot. It’s good counsel. I’ll relay to El Cavador that we have explosives.” He excused them then, put his face in the holospace, and called El Cavador. After a short delay, Concepcion’s head appeared.

“We can contribute twenty-five men,” said Lem. “We’re not operating on a full crew, so I’m putting in all the men I can afford. And we have explosives.”

Concepcion showed no emotion. “Thank you.”

He waited for her to say more, but she didn’t. “Now to another matter, Captain,” he said. “When we last met, you downloaded files from my ship.”

“When we last met, you killed one of my crew, crippled my ship, and risked the lives of everyone in my family, including women and children.”

He had to be careful how he responded. She was probably recording this transmission, and he couldn’t make any statement that could be used against him in court. An apology would be an admission of guilt, as would telling her that he hadn’t intended to hurt anyone. But it was best to avoid such statements anyway. Unless he broke down and sobbed like a penitent churchgoer, she’d probably think him insincere. Better to ignore the issue entirely.

“Downloading our files constitutes theft,” he said.

“Killing my nephew constitutes murder.”

Lem resisted the urge to sigh. “Come now, Captain,” he wanted to say. “Must we play this tit for tat game of who is guiltier of the greater crime? Besides, it would be involuntary manslaughter, not murder, and probably a much lesser charge if Juke lawyers jumped into the fray.” But aloud he said, “What are your intentions with this data?”

If she was going to blackmail him, he wanted to be done with it. If she intended to sell it to a competitor, maybe he could convince her otherwise. He was more than willing to dip into his personal fortune to make this go away.

“Our intentions were to find out who the captain of your ship was,” said Concepcion. “We wanted to know who would be cruel enough to do such a thing.”

“Yes, but what are your intentions now?”

She seemed confused. “What do you expect our intentions to be? That we will use your corporate secrets against you, sell them on the black market perhaps, contact one of your competitors?”

“Yes, actually.”

She laughed. “We’re not like you, Lem. As difficult as it might be for you to believe, there are decent people in the universe who don’t scheme or push aside others for profit. I haven’t given your files any consideration since we took them. We’ve been occupied with trying to stay alive. If you would like me to erase them from our system, I will gladly do so. They are of no use to me.”

“Right now?” Lem couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You’ll erase them immediately.”

“I’ll give the order, the moment we terminate this call.”

“How do I know you’re not lying? How do I know you won’t keep them or sell them?”

She shook her head, pitying him. “You won’t know, Lem. You’ll have to take my word for it.” She moved as if to end the call, then turned back. “Incidentally, we sent you a laserline before you attacked us, warning you about the Formic ship. But since you had left your position to conduct your unprovoked strike against us, you didn’t receive that message. Which is too bad. If you had received it maybe you wouldn’t have killed my nephew and destroyed our laserline transmitter. Which means we could have warned Weigh Station Four and everyone else a long time ago. If you have an ounce of soul, Lem, I suspect that knowing that-knowing the ramifications of your decision, knowing how damaging your selfishness really is-will keep you up at night far longer than losing your precious corporate files.”

Her face disappeared, ending the transmission.

How dare she, thought Lem. How dare she blame him for the destruction of Weigh Station Four. He pushed away from the desk. Free miners. Dirty little scavengers. He shouldn’t have mentioned the files. Now she’ll suspect they have great value. She’s probably contacting the WU-HU ship to try and sell them right now.

No. He knew that wasn’t true. She was erasing them. She hadn’t been lying.

But had she really sent him a laserline warning him of the Formics? Or was that some ploy to make him feel guilty? What had Father said? “Guilt is the greatest weapon because its cuts rarely heal and it aims for the heart.”

No, Concepcion Querales was nothing like Father. Father might try to burden Lem with guilt for some personal gain, but something told Lem that Concepcion didn’t play that game. Deceit and dominion and the twisted manipulation of human emotion weren’t the old lady’s style.

Mono stood in the cargo bay, twisting his pinkie finger and wishing he were a million klicks away.

“What were you thinking?” said Concepcion. “You disobeyed direct orders and you terrified your mother.”

Mono felt himself shrink a little. All of the men who had stayed behind, along with Concepcion, stood nearby, looking down on him, furious. Even Segundo, who never got angry, now looked as if he was ready to give Mono the spanking of his life. Mono cursed himself. He should have thought his plan through a little better. Of course Mother would eventually figure out that he wasn’t on the WU-HU ship. She would realize Zapa was lying sooner or later. He couldn’t pretend Mono was in the bathroom forever. But Mono hadn’t thought that far ahead. He hadn’t considered what would happen next. Mother had gone to the WU-HU captain in tears, according to Concepcion, and the captain had radioed immediately to El Cavador. After that it was just a matter of Concepcion getting on the ship’s loudspeaker and telling Mono, wherever he was on the ship, to get his butt to the cargo bay immediately.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” asked Concepcion.

“I wanted to help,” said Mono. “I’m good with the small-hand work. Vico said so. You might need that.”

Concepcion rubbed her eyes.

Segundo turned to Concepcion. “What are we going to do? I wouldn’t recommend we dock again. The WU-HU ship hit us hard. We took a little structural damage, nothing to be concerned about, but enough to weaken the area around the docking hatch. I wouldn’t risk another high-speed dock if we don’t have to.”

“You’ve put us in a very difficult position, Mono,” said Concepcion. “I thought Vico had trained you better.”

That did it. He could bear the angry looks of two dozen men; he could tolerate a good tongue-lashing; but to think that this would disappoint Vico, to think that Vico would disapprove, that was too much for Mono to bear. He covered his eyes and began to cry. “Don’t tell Vico. Please. Don’t tell Vico.”

To Mono’s surprise, they responded with silence. No one lashed out. No one told him he couldn’t be an apprentice anymore. They just stood there and watched him cry. Finally Concepcion spoke again, and this time her voice was calm. “From now on Mono, when I give you an order or when your mother gives you an order, you will obey it. Do I make myself clear?”

He nodded.

“I want to hear your answer,” said Concepcion.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I appreciate your willingness to help, Mono, but lying to your mother and getting others to lie for you is not how we operate. We are family.”

He wanted to tell her that it was for the family that he had stayed and for the family that he had lied, but he didn’t think that would help his situation.

She made him stand off to the side while the men checked their equipment. Helmets, suits, propulsion packs, magnets, helmet radios. Mono watched them work, feeling foolish and angry with himself. He had frightened Mother when all he ultimately wanted to do was drive her fear away.

Segundo set up a workbench to assemble the timers and magnet discs to the explosives. The explosives weren’t live. That required a blasting disc, which the men would insert into the mechanism when they set the charges on the Formic ship, so there was no chance of them detonating prematurely. Segundo enlisted four men to help him assemble the timers, but it quickly became clear that the men were out of their element; they could set explosives, but they didn’t know wiring and chip work. Finally, after forty-five minutes, Segundo excused the men and called Mono over.

“Don’t think this means you’re not in trouble,” said Segundo.

Mono kept his face a blank and didn’t say a word. He worried that he might say the wrong thing or smile at the wrong time and anger Segundo and spoil his chance to help.

The timers were a cinch to assemble. He and Vico had done similar work on other things dozens of times. It was just a matter of cutting and rewiring and making a few taps with the soldering gun. The magnet discs were a little trickier, and Mono ended up changing the design Segundo had started. Instead of having the magnets underneath the explosive, which would dampen the explosive’s damaging effect to the hull, Mono used smaller magnets around the rim of the device and increased their attraction with a second battery. It was nothing innovative, really. Mono was merely copying something Victor had done when they had repaired one of the water pumps. But Segundo, who had been watching him silently work, picked up the piece when Mono was finished and nodded. “This is the kind of thing Vico would do.”

It was more praise than Mono could have hoped for, and even though he thought it might get him in trouble, he couldn’t help but smile.

Segundo secured his helmet and stepped into the airlock. They were minutes away from reaching the Formic ship, and a quiet intensity had settled among the men. They had drilled their maneuvers so many times over the past few days-using a wall in the cargo bay as the hull of the Formic ship and setting down dummy explosives over and over again until it was second nature-that Segundo didn’t feel nearly as much anxiety as he thought he would. They could do this.

Once everyone was in the airlock and the door secured, Bahzim had them check and recheck each other’s equipment. Segundo was especially thorough with those around him and found nothing out of order. Concepcion then gathered them in a circle for prayer, asking for protection and mercy and that a heavenly hand watch over the women and children. At the “Amen,” Segundo crossed himself and offered his own silent prayer for Rena and Victor.

Everything moved quickly after that. Bahzim ordered them to clip the D-rings of their safety harnesses onto the mooring cable that would be shot down to the surface of the ship. Segundo positioned himself at the front of the line so that he would be the first one on the Formic ship. He knew that many of the younger men were watching him closely, and he suspected it would put them at ease to see him leading out. Concepcion strapped herself into the seat on the winch. She would pull everyone in once the charges were set. Segundo couldn’t remember the last time he had seen her in a suit and helmet.

“Remember,” Concepcion said. “Your suits weren’t designed for spacewalks at this speed. They’ll protect you from collisions with space dust, but anything bigger will rip through you like shrapnel. So the less time you spend outside the better. Bottom line, move fast. Set the explosives, click back on the cable, and I’ll reel you back in. Nothing to it.”

Right, thought Segundo. Nothing to it. Just perform a spacewalk at an insane speed, cling to magnets for dear life, and take down an alien ship fifty times our size. Easy.

He turned on his HUD, and windows of data popped up on his visor. He blinked through a few file folders until he found the family photo he was looking for. A candid shot of him, Rena, and Vico at some family gathering a few years ago. He smiled to see how small Vico was then, still a boy. He had grown to his man height so quickly. Segundo’s smile faded. He wondered where Victor was at the moment, rocketing toward Luna all these months, his health slowly deteriorating.

Video taken from inside Lem Jukes’s helmet popped up on Segundo’s HUD. “We’re in position,” said Lem. “Give the word.”

The Makarhu was approaching the Formic ship on the opposite side, and Lem, like Concepcion, was manning the winch on his ship. The plan was for Lem to fire his cable onto the hull at the same instant El Cavador fired hers. Then both ships would send out their men.

“We’re opening our doors,” said Concepcion.

The large airlock doors opened wide, and Segundo stared in wonder and horror at the size of the ship before them. El Cavador was over a hundred meters from the ship, yet the view of the ship filled the entire airlock doorway. Segundo had seen renderings and models of the ship, but until now he hadn’t grasped the sheer immensity of it. It was larger than any structure he had ever seen, and yet it was so smooth and uniform and singular in its design that it didn’t seem like a structure at all. It didn’t seem like something made. It seemed like a giant drop of red paint falling from heaven to Earth. The color surprised Segundo, though he wasn’t sure why. What had he expected? A menacing black?

These are not ignorant monsters, he realized. They are every child’s worst nightmare. The monster that thinks. The monster that can build and move fast and defy every defense. I’ve been in denial, he realized. He had seen the pod, he had seen their tech, but the obstinate, dominant-species part of his brain had refused to believe that a face so horrific and antlike could be more innovative or intelligent than human beings. Yet here was the proof. Here was a whole kilometer of proof.

“Are you sure you want to go through with this?” asked Lem. “Are you seeing what we’re seeing?”

“We see it,” said Concepcion. “And I’m more convinced than ever. We cannot let this reach Earth.”

“You’re right,” said Lem. “But I don’t like it.”

Segundo agreed. He wasn’t convinced that they’d be the ones to stop it, but it had to stop.

“Makarhu, are you ready to fire your cable?” asked Concepcion.

“Makarhu ready,” said a man’s voice.

“On my mark,” said Concepcion. “Four. Three. Two. One. Cable away.”

The mooring cable shot forward with a large round magnet at its end. Segundo watched the cable uncoil as it flew toward the ship. It seemed to go forever, and then it struck the surface, holding firm. Concepcion gunned the winch, and pulled in the slack. The cable was taut. Bahzim was shouting, “Go, go, go!”

Segundo launched himself out and thumbed the trigger on his propulsion pack. He shot forward toward the ship, keenly aware that he was also moving in the direction of the ship at one hundred and ten thousand kilometers per hour. The smallest rock chunk would kill him, and the thought prompted him to press the thumb trigger harder. The Formic ship was coming up fast. A beeping message in Segundo’s HUD warned him of an impending collision and urged him to reduce his speed. Segundo ignored it. He needed to get down fast or he’d slow down the line. Thirty meters. Twenty. He hit the second thumb trigger, and retro boosters on his thighs and chest quickly slowed his descent. Two seconds later he was bringing his feet up in front of him.

Touchdown. His boot magnets-thankfully-held to the surface. A disc magnet with a handgrip was already in his left hand. He reached down to the surface and anchored his upper body with the magnet while his right hand released the D-ring from the cable, all in one fluid movement as they had rehearsed.

He scooted to his right, getting clear of the cable, making room. The others arrived behind him. Chepe, Pitoso, Bulo, Nando, and the rest, with Bahzim picking up the rear. Segundo looked ahead of them. Lem Jukes’s crew was coming down a cable from the Juke ship maybe three hundred meters away. Even at a distance Segundo could see that the Juke suits and gear were far superior than anything El Cavador men had.

“Spread out,” said Bahzim. “Be back on the line in twelve minutes.”

Segundo was on his hands and knees, crawling forward, keeping his body low, getting as far away from everyone else as he could. The idea was to disperse and set the explosives far apart to create a wide circle of damage. Segundo’s knee and hand magnets held him securely to the hull, but they were cumbersome and difficult to move. He had to pull hard on each leg to momentarily break the attraction and lift the magnet enough to move it forward. It was agonizing and far more difficult than their rehearsals. After twenty meters, his thighs were burning, and his breathing was heavy.

He could see now that the surface of the ship wasn’t as smooth as it had appeared at a distance. There were thousands of closed apertures in rows running the length of the ship, like planted fields of crop. Each aperture was as big around as Segundo’s helmet, and he knew that if any of them opened it would be to unleash their weapon. He tried not putting any weight on the apertures for fear that the magnet might trigger something and open them. It was like crawling across a minefield.

Finally he stopped and looked around him. The men from both ships were spread all over the surface. Some were laying explosives; others were still crawling forward; several explosives were already set, each with a small blinking green light, indicating the explosive was live. Segundo removed his first explosive from his pouch and set it gently on the surface. He inserted the blasting disc into the slot then set the timer to detonate three hours from now.

They had agreed to radio silence during this phase of the operation so that they could all concentrate on setting the charges without interruptions. But suddenly everyone was yelling. Segundo lifted his head and saw that one of the explosives had gone off prematurely, ripping through the hull and throwing up debris. The voices in his helmet were fast and frantic.

“What happened?”

“Pitoso’s dead!”

“It blew up right under him!”

“What do we do?”

“Get back to the cable. Set your explosives and get back to the line. Move!”

Segundo’s explosive was blinking green, set. He left it and turned toward the mooring cable at least thirty meters away, a good five-minute crawl. They weren’t going to make it, he realized. Even if they got back to the line and up to the ship, they couldn’t fly El Cavador away fast enough. The whole operation relied on them getting in and out and then a safe distance away without being detected, before the Formics could respond. That wasn’t going to happen now. The Formics knew they were here.

Segundo crawled faster, not bothering to avoid the apertures this time. His thighs burned. His arms ached. Sweat ran down his forehead and into his eyes. The blast site was in front of him, between him and the cable-he would have to go around it. As he drew closer, up the curvature of the ship, the hole from the explosion came into view. It was a meter wide and stretched between two rows of apertures. Segundo looked down inside but saw nothing but darkness and shadows.

“Let’s go,” Bahzim was shouting. “Move!”

Segundo pulled out his last two explosives, set them on the ship’s surface beside one another, and quickly slid in the discs. Before setting the timers, he glanced up. Two men had made it to the line. Segundo couldn’t see who they were. He watched as they clipped their D-rings onto the line and launched upward, soaring away from the ship toward El Cavador.

Segundo returned his attention back to the explosives and began setting the timers. A moment later Chepe was shouting over the radio. “There’s movement here. Something’s coming up out of the hole.”

Segundo looked up. Chepe had come to the edge of the hole but was now retreating back from it as shapes emerged from the darkness. Two Formics in spacesuits, carrying equipment, crawled out onto the surface quick and insectlike with the patter of many legs. Two more followed them. Then three after that. A few of the Formics carried thick plates. Others had oddly shaped tools and machines.

They’re a repair crew, Segundo realized. They think something struck their ship and they’ve come out to fix it. They had no idea we were here.

The Formics stood still and kept their distance, regarding the men on the ship in a rather unemotional, calculating way, as if they were more intrigued by the humans’ presence than threatened. Then one of the Formics looked directly at Segundo, and the demeanor of all of them changed in an instant. In unison, they all turned their heads toward Segundo, and their flat, yet frightening expressions became even darker and more menacing. It was as if they recognized Segundo.

Two of the Formics released their tools and charged him. Segundo couldn’t retreat. There was nowhere to go. He gripped his hand magnets tightly, pulled his knees up away from the surface, twisted his body, and kicked out with his legs as hard as he could when the first Formic lunged. The creature wasn’t expecting it, and Segundo felt his boots break bone as they drove into the Formic’s chest. Its mouth opened in agony, and its hold on the ship broke. It flew off the ship in the direction it had been kicked.

“Help him!” someone was yelling.

The second Formic lunged. Segundo didn’t have time to get his feet back under him. A kick struck him in the abdomen, then another. Pain shot through him. The Formics were small, but they had the strength of something three times their size. He swung out with the hand magnet, connecting with the Formic’s helmet. The creature retreated a few steps, spread its lower legs apart in a fighting stance, and opened its mouth, bearing its mucus-laced maw and teeth. Segundo could almost hear it hissing.

Behind him he could see other men engaged with Formics. Two men flew away from the ship, Formics clinging to them. Lost. Segundo heard their screams but could do nothing to help them.

The Formic lunged again, but now Segundo was ready. He swept with his legs, surprising the Formic and causing it to stumble. Then he swung out with his hand magnet, connecting again and cracking the Formic’s helmet. The Formic panicked, scrambling for purchase, and Segundo seized the moment to rotate his legs and lock them around the Formic’s waist. The Formic kicked out, but its body was turned the wrong way. Segundo came down with the hand magnet again and again, striking the helmet visor with all of his strength. The Formic thrashed and bucked, but then the visor shattered under repeated blows. Segundo kicked the creature away from him, and the Formic flew upward, flailing its arms and legs. Its air hose stretched out until it snapped taut, but the creature continued to thrash about.

Segundo rotated, getting his legs back under him, and made for the cable. All over the surface of the ship, men were fighting off Formic attacks and hurrying to their respective cables. Two Juke men fell away from the ship. Then another. Then someone from El Cavador-Segundo couldn’t see whom.

A Formic to his left was bent over one of the explosives, poking at it quizzically. The explosive detonated, vaporizing the creature and tearing another hole in the hull, momentarily blinding Segundo with the blast.

Instantly the Formics changed their tactics, abandoning those they were fighting and hurrying to the explosives nearest them, pulling the explosives away and throwing them out to space.

“They’re peeling off the charges,” said Bahzim.

A Formic near Segundo was trying to pry one of his explosives free. Segundo hurried toward him, but the Formic was faster, throwing the explosive clear of the ship. Segundo didn’t stop. He swung with the hand magnet and connected with the creature. The Formic took the blow, but then, instead of fighting back, it reached for and pulled on Segundo’s magnets, desperately trying to break Segundo’s hold on the ship.

More hands were suddenly grabbing Segundo, pulling at him, punching him, yanking on the magnets that held him to the surface. Three Formics, then four, all of them swarming all around him. These new ones weren’t wearing suits, he realized. They wore shoes on their feet that gripped to the hull and small, tightly sealed masks over their insect mouths, but otherwise they were unprotected, as if they hadn’t taken the time to suit up before rushing outside.

They attacked Segundo with an unrelenting ferocity, pulling at his hand magnets, pulling at his knees. He kicked and shook and fought, but it was no use. One hand magnet came loose. Then the other one. Then the last knee magnet was disconnected, and Segundo was suddenly floating just above the surface of the ship. The Formics attacking him didn’t let go to save themselves, but instead continued clinging to him, poking, stabbing, striking out. One of the creatures anchored to the surface pushed Segundo away, and that was all it took. He drifted away from the ship, swinging, punching, furiously trying to break the hold the Formics had on him.

Pain exploded in his leg. He looked down. One of the Formics without a helmet had pulled away its own mask and bit through Segundo’s suit and into the meat of his calf. Foam inside the suit inflated around the puncture, sealing off the leak, but Segundo barely felt it over the hot, stabbing agony of the bite. He screamed, half in pain, half in fury, but if anyone could hear him, they didn’t respond.

Lem clung to the side of the cargo bay and watched in horror as his men on the surface of the Formic ship scrambled for the cable. Chubs was beside him at the winch, waiting for the order to pull up the line. Lem zoomed in with his visor. Formics without spacesuits were pouring out of the breached holes and rushing to the men. When they reached someone, they pulled the man’s magnets free and tumbled with him out into space.

“They’re not even bothering with suits,” said Lem. “They’re killing themselves to peel us off the ship. They’re dying and they don’t even care.”

Lem shifted his view to the base of the cable and watched as one of the Juke men clipped his harness onto the line. Just as the man was about to launch away from the ship toward Lem and the safety of the cargo bay, two Formics seized him from behind by the waist and wrestled him down. The man twisted and struggled and fought, but the Formics showed incredible strength and seemed unfazed by the man’s attacks.

Lem extended a hand. “Chubs, give me your gun.”

“You can’t hit anything at this range.”

“Give me your gun.”

Chubs handed it over. It was a small and seemingly insignificant weapon, with its short barrel and tiny dart cartridges. Lem handled it carefully, having seen how lethal it could be back at Weigh Station Four. Tightening his grip around the gun, Lem widened his stance with his boot magnets and extended his arm, aiming at the two Formics struggling with the man at the end of the cable. The fight was fast and violent, however, and Lem quickly saw how dangerous it would be to fire into the melee. Even at close range he wasn’t certain he could hit the Formics and not the man. Lem cursed under his breath and shifted his aim to one of the two holes where Formics continued to emerge in a steady stream. It stunned him to see so many of the creatures rush out into the vacuum of space with a feeble mask as protection-or in the case of a few, with no protection at all. It was suicide. Nothing could survive for more than-how long? — twenty seconds? Maybe not even that long. Didn’t they know they were killing themselves? And if so, what kind of leader demanded and received that degree of loyalty?

Lem squeezed the trigger. A dart discharged. It flew toward the hole but then disappeared from view at a distance when it became too small to track. Lem lowered the gun. Chubs was right; it was pointless.

He returned his attention back to the base of the cable. The two Formics were gone, and the man who had clipped onto the cable looked dead. His body hung limp by the harness, floating in space, bent in an awkward position.

Two more Juke men reached the line. One of them unsnapped the dead man and pushed his corpse away, sending it out into space. As they attached their harnesses onto the line, two more crewmen arrived and buckled on as well. Rather than moving orderly up the cable, the men momentarily fought for position, struggling to be the first up the line. Their infighting would be their undoing, Lem realized, as he spotted three Formics racing toward them and moving fast.

“Pull up the line,” said Lem. Saving four men was better than saving none at all.

Chubs turned off the magnet anchor and switched on the winch. The cable began to move away from the Formic ship, but not before three Formics grabbed at the men’s feet and climbed upward. Now there were seven bodies at the end of the line, all of them lashing out, fighting, kicking, and spinning.

The winch continued to reel in the cable, moving faster now. One of the Formics scrambled past the twisting mass of bodies and was now climbing up the cable directly toward Lem.

Lem fired the gun, but he must have missed as the Formic kept coming, unharmed and unhindered.

“I’m cutting the cable,” said Chubs.

“No,” Lem shouted. “We have men on that line.”

The Formic was moving faster now, scurrying up the cable, eyes locked with Lem’s. Forty meters away. Then thirty.

“It’ll get on the ship,” Chubs said.

“Pull in the line,” Lem said. “That is an order.”

Lem could see the Formic’s mouth now, clenched tight to keep it alive in the vacuum as long as possible. Fall off, Lem thought. Come on. Open your mouth and die.

He fired another dart, and this time the creature was close enough that Lem saw the dart miss. The men on the line were still fighting off the other two Formics, screaming and begging for Lem to pull the line in faster.

The climbing Formic had almost reached Lem. Ten meters. Five.

The cable snapped free from the winch, severed by Chubs, and the cargo bay door swished closed. Lem watched through the glass in the bay door as the Formic’s momentum carried him to the ship. The creature bounced against the closed door and ricocheted away, its hands scratching at the ship for a moment, struggling to find purchase. The men on the cable cried out, begging not to be left behind. Chubs hit the command on his wrist pad to sever the men from the radio frequency.

Lem grabbed him by the front of the suit and slammed him back against the wall. “I gave you an order!”

“And your father gave me another order. Protect you at all costs. His word trumps yours.”

Chubs opened a frequency to the helm. “Get us as far away from the Formic ship as possible. Now!”

“We can’t leave El Cavador,” said Lem.

“If the Formics are willing to send out men without air, they’ll be willing to roast them with lasers if it means taking us down.”

Lem’s expression was hard. “You killed our own men.”

“I saved your life, Lem. That’s two you owe me.”

Mono floated at the crow’s nest window, his face pressed against the glass, his lip trembling. From here he could see everything: men peeling away from the Formic ship; Formics pulling off the explosives; a swarm of Formics coming out of the holes to fight, kick, bite, and attack. They were worse than any monster Mono had imagined, made all the more horrible by the sounds coming from the radio frequency, which Mono had opened on Edimar’s terminal. Frantic shouts. Men screaming. The sounds of a struggle. Concepcion telling everyone to hurry back to the cable. Mono wanted to go to the radio and turn it off, but he was too afraid to move.

He shouldn’t have left Mother. That had been a stupid mistake. This was grown-up business. He shouldn’t be here. He had helped, yes, and played an important part, but right now he didn’t care. He would go back and not play an important part if it meant he could be on the WU-HU ship with Mother.

Why had he lied to her? He loved Mother, and now his last act to her would be a lie. And yes, it would be his last act. He was going to die. He knew that. He had heard everything the men had said over the past few days, even when they thought they were talking quietly enough for him not to hear. If the Formics discovered them, they had no chance.

I’m sorry, Mother.

He felt doubly ashamed because he knew Vico wouldn’t be afraid. Vico wouldn’t flinch at this. He would be down there with the others, fighting. And yet, even the mere thought of Vico gave Mono a touch of courage. He launched across the room to the radio and clicked it off. The room went silent. Mono took a deep breath. He could feel it calm him, so he took another one, a deep calming breath like Mother had taught him to take whenever he had cried so much that his breathing became rapid. “Easy now,” Mother would say, gently taking him into her arms. “You’re going to make yourself sick, Monito. Deep breaths.” And then she would brush her fingers through his hair and hum into his ear until he got himself under control again.

It worked now, here in the crow’s nest. Mono’s lips stopped trembling, and his muscles relaxed. Outside the struggle continued, but inside, here in the crow’s nest, Mono felt almost at ease.

A door opened on the side of the Formic ship, and a large mechanism extended. Mono couldn’t begin to guess what it was for or how it operated. Vico would probably know. Vico could look at anything and know exactly how to fix it or what it was good for.

The mechanism rotated and pointed its many shafts at El Cavador. There was a flash of light, and then a wall of hot glowing globules of radiant plasma shot forth from the shafts, rocketing toward Mono like ten thousand balls of light.

Segundo tumbled through space, struggling desperately, fighting off the last two Formics clinging to his body. One of them crawled onto his back, opened its maw, and reared back its head, ready to bite and tear and puncture his suit. Segundo thumbed the propulsion trigger and hit the Formic with a blast of compressed air, startling it and knocking it away.

The last Formic was kicking at him, swatting, biting. Segundo spun it around, grabbed it below the jaw, and twisted its head until he heard things break inside. The Formic thrashed and kicked and then went still. Segundo released it and hit his thumb trigger, shooting away from it. His breathing was labored. He had little air. He was bleeding. There were holes in his suit. Several alarms were going off on his HUD. One showed a silhouette of his suit dotted with flashing lights, indicating where there was a rip or tear. The worst was on his leg where the Formic had bitten through. The emergency system had cinched his leg’s strap tight, sealing off the escape of air in the tear, but it wouldn’t hold for long. He fumbled for the emergency tape in his pouch. He pulled a strip free and placed it across a hissing puncture on his arm. He tapped the tape mechanism to release another strip. Then another. His gloved fingers were big and cumbersome and kept sticking to the corners of the tape strips before he could apply them. Twice he had to throw bent, twisted strips to the side, which was maddening since he knew he would need every strip. He covered as many holes as he could, but then the tape ran out. There were still a few torn seams, nothing big, tiny holes, but his HUD continued to sound its alarm.

Segundo blinked a command to shut off the alarm. The computer asked if he was sure since life-threatening damage to his suit was still unrepaired. He blinked the affirmative, and the alarm went silent.

His oxygen tank was nearly empty. He was desperate for air. He had a spare tank in his pouch with fifteen more minutes of oxygen, but he knew it probably wouldn’t last him five. He ditched the spent tank and screwed in the spare. Cool oxygen came into his helmet. He’d enjoy it while it lasted.

He turned back toward the direction of the ships and saw nothing but empty space. He knew he was still moving incredibly fast in that direction, but he would never see the ships again. The WU-HU ship would have passed him a long time ago, trailing behind the Formic ship, recording everything. They wouldn’t see him. He was a speck in a sea of black.

Rena.

She was safe at least. She would take this hard, but she was with others. They would comfort each other, strengthen each other. They would survive. He wanted her to know that she was the last thing on his mind, and that he hadn’t died in agony. Well, not total agony; the wound in his leg had settled to a burning numbness. Some of the others had suffered much worse. He focused on the spot in space where he assumed the WU-HU ship would be and told his HUD to give the remaining power to the radio transmitter to boost the signal.

“Rena. I don’t know if you’ll receive this, but my suit is punctured and leaking air. Even if the WU-HU ship decelerated now and you knew exactly where I was, you’d still never reach me in time. So don’t stop. Keep going. I don’t know if El Cavador got out, but I don’t think so. Tell Abbi that Mono was sorry for lying to her. Tell her he loves her. Tell her we couldn’t have done this without him. It’s the truth.

“The women will be looking for a leader, Rena, someone to help them navigate all this. Don’t be modest. We both know they’d appreciate you guiding them. Work with the captain. He strikes me as a good man. Don’t rush to Earth. I don’t know what will come of this, but I’d prefer you stay away from it and survive. Do that for me, mi amor. I’m sorry we won’t share a hammock when you read my letter, but know that I mean every word. Te amo, Rena. Para siempre jamas, te amo.”

The air in his helmet was getting thin, and he didn’t want her hearing him gasping for breath. He shut off the transmitter. He turned off his HUD. All was silent except for the weak rasp of the regulator, pumping in the last of the air. Segundo let his body go loose. He was cold and tired, but he ignored the cold. Around him stars shone. Some bright, some dim, the most constant things in life. Segundo smiled up at them, happy at least to be dying among friends.