The Rock Rats

CHAPTER 32

George could tell from the look on Dr. Cardenas’s face that the news was not good.

Fuchs and Nodon had rushed him to Ceres’s minuscule infirmary as soon as they had landed, Nodon carrying the insulated plastic box that held George’s severed arm. Half the population of the asteroid had also tried to crowd into the infirmary, some out of morbid curiosity, most because they heard that Big George had been injured and they knew and liked the red-haired Aussie. Cardenas had firmly shooed all of the bystanders into the tunnel outside, except for Amanda.

Fuchs embraced his wife, and she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him solidly.

“You’re all right, Lars?” she asked.

“Yes. Fine. Not a scratch.”

“I was so worried!”

“It’s George who was hurt. Not me.”

Cardenas put George through the diagnostic scanners, then took the container from Nodon and disappeared into the lab that adjoined the infirmary, leaving George sitting up on one of the three infirmary beds, surrounded by Amanda, Fuchs, and Nodon. “You really were attacked by another ship?” Amanda asked, still not quite believing it could be possible.

George held up the stump of his left arm. “Wasn’t termites did this,” he said.

“I’ve sent in a full report of the attack to IAA headquarters,” said Fuchs.

Amanda replied, “They’ve sent a confirmation back. One of their administrators is coming out here to bring you and George and,” she glanced at Nodon, whom she’d just met, “and you, Mr. Nodon, to Selene for a hearing before the chief of the IAA legal department.”

“A hearing!” Fuchs exulted. “Good!”

“At Selene.”

“Even better. We’ll beard Humphries in his own den.”

“Can George travel?” Amanda asked.

“Why not?” George asked back.

That was when Cardenas came back into the infirmary, her expression dark and grave.

George immediately saw the situation. “Not good news, eh?”

Cardenas shook her head. “The arm’s deteriorated too far, I’m afraid. Too much damage to the nerves. By the time we get you back to Selene, the deterioration will be even worse.”

“Can’t you stitch it back on here?” George asked.

“I’m not that good a surgeon, George. I’m not even a physician, really, I’m just pretending to be one.”

George leaned back on the bed. It was hard to tell what was going on behind his shaggy, matted beard and overgrown head of hair.

“They have regeneration specialists at Selene. With some of your stem cells they’ll be able to regrow your arm in a few months.”

“Can you do it with nanomachines?” Amanda asked.

Cardenas shot her a strangely fierce look: part anger, part guilt, part frustration.

“Regeneration could be done with nanotherapy,” she said tightly, “but I couldn’t do it.”

Fuchs said, “But you are an expert in nanotechnology. A Nobel laureate.”

“That was long ago,” Cardenas said. “Besides, I swore that I wouldn’t engage in any nanotech work again.”

“Swore? To whom?”

“To myself.”

“I don’t understand.”

Cardenas was obviously struggling with herself. After a few heartbeats she said, “This isn’t the time to tell you the sad story of my life, Lars.”

“But—”

“Go to Selene. They have regeneration experts there, George. They’ll grow your arm back for you.”

George shrugged good-naturedly. “Long as they don’t grow it back before our hearing.” He waved his stump. “I want those IAA bludgers t’see what the bastards did to me.”

Fuchs patted George’s good shoulder. “And I want Humphries to be there to see it.”

Fuchs and Amanda spent that night making love. No words, no talk about what had happened or discussions about what the future might bring. Nothing but animal heat and passion.

Lying beside her afterward, their room lit only by the dimmed numerals of the digital clock, Fuchs realized he had made love to Amanda as if he would never see her again. He had learned something in that battle out in space: His first brush with imminent death had taught him that he had to live life as if it would end in an instant.

I have no future, he told himself in the silence of their darkened room. As long as I’m in this war against Humphries I cannot hope for anything. I must live moment by moment, expecting nothing, ready to accept whatever comes next and deal with it. Only then can I escape the fear; only by shutting out the future can I cope with the present.

Briefly he thought about the frozen zygotes they had waiting in Selene. If I’m killed, Fuchs reflected, at least Amanda will be able to bear our child—if she wants to.

Amanda, lying beside him, pretended to sleep. But she was thinking too. What can Lars accomplish by this hearing with the IAA? Even if they find Humphries responsible for the attacks on all those ships, what can they do about it? Whatever happens, it will only make Martin even more enraged against Lars.

If only Lars would give this up, forget this war of his. But he won’t. He’ll keep on fighting until they kill him. He’ll keep on fighting until he’s as murderous and hateful as they are. He’ll never stop, no matter how I beg him. He’s moving away from me, becoming a stranger to me. Even in bed, he’s not the same person anymore.