Earth Afire (The First Formic War) (44 page)

“Ukko plans to attack the mothership,” said Simona, “and he’s going to use a fleet of drones to do it.”

“A fleet? How many of these drones does he plan to make?”

“Fifty. And he’s already made them. The glasers are produced as well. The only thing left to do is mount the glasers onto the drones. Our assembly lines are working around the clock on that as we speak. It’s proving trickier than we thought, though. We’re having to modify the drone’s flight controls to accommodate the glaser.”

“How extensive was your testing of the glaser?” Lem asked.

“Mostly lab work and computer models,” said Simona. “We couldn’t exactly go outside and blow up a few asteroids. There aren’t any around here. That’s why fields tests are best.”

“You need to speak with Dr. Benyawe and Dr. Dublin, my chief engineer. All of our computer models for the glaser were wrong. When we hit a big asteroid in the Kuiper Belt, the resulting gravity field was far bigger than any of us expected. It almost consumed our ship. The Formic ship is much bigger than that rock, and its composition is unknown. Benyawe convinced me that it was too dangerous to hit it with the glaser. There’s no telling what kind of gravity field would result. Hitting it with fifty glasers at once could be suicide.”

Simona made a few notes on her holopad. “Anything else?”

“Yes. You still haven’t explained why I need to pitch the glaser in interviews and what this has to do with the U.S.”

Simona wiped her hand through the field, and the drone disappeared. After a few more gestures, the Formic ship appeared in its place. “Our sources inside the U.S. Joint Chiefs tell us that the Americans are planning a strike against the Formic mothership,” said Simona.

“We have sources that high inside the U.S. military?”

“We have sources everywhere, dear. And these are particularly reliable ones. Although the strike isn’t much of a secret, truth be told. Everyone expects it. The U.S. has been preparing for it out in space ever since word of the Formic ship was confirmed. And as you know, it’s very hard to do anything in space without the whole world noticing. What
isn’t
common knowledge is when and how the strike will happen, which is what our sources have told us.”

“What’s the U.S. planning?”

“They’ve weaponized about fifteen shuttles, and they’ve added these to their existing space fleet. Right now they have twenty-two ships. We caught wind this morning that the Russians, British, and Chinese are adding ships as well, bringing the total to fifty-three.”

“I saw the Formics take on sixty ships at once in the Belt,” said Lem. “It wasn’t pretty.”

“The U.S. is doing it anyway,” said Simona. “Their military dismisses the Battle of the Belt as blue-collar scrubs acting like soldiers.”

“Then the U.S. military are idiots,” said Lem. “Asteroid miners are far better space pilots and far better prepared for space combat than soldiers and pilots brought up from the planet.”

Simona shrugged. “I’m not a strategist. I just keep your father informed.”

“Why doesn’t the U.S. military just pound the mothership with nukes?”

“They have. Or rather they tried. Three days ago. It didn’t work. The Formic guns picked off the missiles on their approach, long before they reached the Formic ship. The missiles detonated and emitted massive electromagnetic pulses that took out about three dozen satellites and created artificial radiation belts that will annoy everyone for years to come.”

“If the nuke strike failed, then why is the U.S. going through with a manned strike? If the Formics can hit missiles, taking out shuttles and ships will be child’s play.”

“The U.S. doesn’t think so. The Formic weapons systems are hidden inside the ship and only emerge when the ship is threatened. STASA footage of the Battle of the Belt and the footage of the Formics taking out the U.N. secretary showed us where those weapons are concealed.”

“How? The surface is round. Every square inch of the ship looks identical.”

“I don’t know. They must have some way. Maybe the ship’s close enough now to detect small discrepancies on the surface. All I know is they intend to target those places where the weapons are stored and cripple the guns before they can emerge. A second team of ships will be striking the Formics here, at the tip, where the shield-generation equipment is located. The U.S. is confident that with those two objectives achieved, they can easily push on with a full-scale assault.”

“They’re wrong,” said Lem. “The Formic guns are only the first line of their defense. The ship itself is a much more lethal weapon. There are apertures all over the surface. Any of them can open and fire laserized gamma plasma in any direction. I’ve seen it happen. The shuttles don’t stand a chance. When do they plan to do this?”

“In about forty-eight hours,” said Simona.

“You have to stop them.”

“That’s your job. That’s what the interviews are for. Tell the world what you know. You don’t have to exaggerate. You don’t have to lie. Be honest. You and your crew have seen the Formics up close. No one else has. Convince the U.S. to withdraw and let Ukko conduct a drone strike.”

“I’ve already told you. Drones with glasers could be a bad idea. I’m not endorsing that approach. If you want me to say that in an interview, forget it. You’ll have to find someone else to do that.”

“Fine. We will. Say what you think is best. But if you say anything against the drones, we’ll only cut it out later, so don’t bother. Just help us stop the U.S. assault. You’d be saving lives.”

“Spare me the saving-lives argument. You and I both know that Father wants to be the hero here. He doesn’t want the U.S. and its allies taking out the mothership because he wants that glory for himself. I know how my father thinks, Simona. If it doesn’t benefit him, he doesn’t care.”

“You really don’t think much of him, do you?”

She would echo everything he said to Father, but at the moment he didn’t care. Right now his mind was racing. A spark of an idea had ignited. What if this was the opportunity he had been waiting for? The drone strike was destined to fail. And yet Father was putting all his eggs in that basket. Fifty drones and fifty glasers. A massive fortune. Not enough to bankrupt the company, but certainly enough to pass a vote of no confidence in Father and boot him off his throne once the glasers and drones were destroyed. The Board couldn’t ignore a mistake like that.

It would take some time and effort to rebuild the company, of course, but Lem had rebuilt companies before. Never on this scale, but the game was the same regardless of the company’s size.

Booting Father wouldn’t be enough, though, he knew. Lem also had to position himself as the rightful successor, and having Father elevate him as a national hero certainly wouldn’t hurt in that effort. The Board would have their eye on Lem. They would be desperate to rebuild the company’s image, and what better way to do that than with a media darling with proven business success who just happens to be the founder’s tenacious son?

Granted, the Formics would still be an issue. That would need addressing as well. But they were an enemy for another day. Right now Father was the one with the exposed flank, and Lem wasn’t about to ignore it.

Lem straightened his jacket and gestured to the door. “Let’s get this over with.”

She looked relieved. “You’re doing the right thing, Lem. People need to hear this story. And don’t edit yourself. Give it some drama. People want drama.”

“Relax, Simona. I’ll have them biting their nails.”

CHAPTER 22

Crows

The airlock was small, but all fifteen women managed to squeeze inside it.

Rena pulled the interior hatch closed—sealing them off from the cargo bay—then she spun the wheel and secured the lock. The exterior hatch, on the opposite wall, was now all that separated them from the vacuum of space.

“Check the suit of the person beside you,” said Rena. “Look for punctures, scratches, any sign of structural deterioration, especially at creases: elbows, armpits, back of the knees. Make sure everyone’s suit is airtight.” Their pressure suits were newer and nicer than anything they had ever had on board El Cavador, but Rena wasn’t taking any chances.

The women obeyed without hesitation. They had come to trust Rena’s leadership when it came to the equipment. “Check your oxygen levels,” said Rena. “Fiddle with the air valves, make sure you have manual control of your air intake if you need it. Know what you’re breathing. Monitor your mixture. Ask your helmet to run a full scan of life support. If any of your biometrics are off, if you sense the tiniest of glitches, speak up now. This is not a drill this time. This is the real. No mistakes.”

Their faces were visible through their visors, and Rena could see that many of them were nervous. Rena didn’t blame them. She was afraid as well. Most of them hadn’t done a spacewalk in years; it was the men on El Cavador who had done all the mining. Worse still, crows didn’t use lifelines—or the long hoses that connected to the back of a spacesuit and kept a person anchored to the ship. On El Cavador, going outside without a lifeline was suicide, the most dangerous, reckless, stupid decision a miner could make. The lifeline was exactly what its name implied. Power and air came down the lifeline, and if you were ever in trouble, if you needed a quick rescue, the lifeline was the means by which you were pulled back into the ship.

But lifelines were impossible with scavenger work. The wreckage constantly moved; lifelines would knot and twist and kink once everyone got on board. Plus the insides of ships were mazes, with corridors extending in any direction; lines would too easily twist and tangle and tie into knots. Then there was the risk of severing a lifeline on the sharp edges from torn metal and wreckage.

No, portable oxygen and batteries were better for scavenger work. Yet lifelines were the only type of spacewalking any of the women had ever done. The idea of going out into the black without a tether was terrifying.

“We’re going to be fine,” Rena assured them. “We’ve been practicing for this.”

She moved to the exterior hatch and looked out the small porthole at the wreckage outside. It was difficult to tell what type of ship it had been. The alien weapons had blown most of it to bits during the battle, leaving only this rear section intact.

She turned back to the group and lifted her arms high over her head. “Stretch out. Muscles need to be loose for takeoff and landing.”

The women complied, bending their legs and getting loose. Rena took a moment to reposition some of the gear she had strapped to her shoulders and belt. Arjuna had loaded each of them with salvaging tools. Rena carried a rotating saw, industrial shears, and a dozen other smaller tools stuffed into her suit’s many pockets.

Arjuna’s voice sounded in their helmets. “Move quickly. Don’t waste time on parts of little value.” He was up in the helm, monitoring them, tracking the wreckage. “When you enter a room, look at everything. Put a price on every piece you see. And remember that the most valuable pieces may not be out in the open. Look for pipes, wiring, conduit. Follow them to their source. Find whatever they’re powering or pumping from. Rip back panels. Expose everything. Then go to what’s worth the most and start cutting.” He was repeating himself. He had drilled this into them for weeks now. “And how much extra do you cut away?”

He meant extra wiring or pipes, all the replaceable pieces that fed into the part and anchored it to the ship. Cutting a power cord was fine. Cutting the part wasn’t.

The women all answered in unison, some with a tired rhythm in their voice. They had been over this so many times already. “At least half a meter,” they said

“At the
least,
” Arjuna repeated. “At the least. More is better. Err on the side of caution. If you cut the part too short or if you damage it when you cut it free, it’s junk. We’ll get nothing for it.”

Rena looked to her right and saw Abbi beside her. Abbi had come to El Cavador as a young bride from a Peruvian free-miner family that had never allowed their women to do spacewalks. She looked terrified.

“Stay close to me,” said Rena. “We’ll go everywhere together.”

Abbi nodded, grateful.

Rena’s heart ached for the woman. Abbi had lost her only son, Mono, when El Cavador was destroyed, and the loss had been devastating. Ever since then Abbi had been detached and distant. Rena had tried comforting her on a few occasions, but Abbi had always brushed off the gestures and preferred to be left alone. Now, however, she was terrified and desperate for companionship.

“We’ll help each other,” Rena told her. “No one’s alone on this.”

Abbi nodded again, putting on her best face. She was trying at least, thought Rena.

Arjuna’s voice returned. “We’ll have the nets open. Once you pull a part, bring it outside and push it to the nets.”

The nets had been a source of contention among the women. Arjuna had ordered his original crew to man the nets and catch the salvaged parts while he had ordered the women of El Cavador to go inside the wreckage and retrieve the valuables.

“You see what he’s doing, don’t you?” Julexi had said. “He’s giving us the dangerous work and giving the light, safe labor to his own family.”

“We’re better cutters than they are,” Rena had said. “We know the parts better than they do. He’s doing this for practical reasons. We’ll move faster and salvage more this way.”

It was true, but no one liked it.

“You see how she always takes his side instead of ours?” Julexi had said. “Arjuna can do no wrong as far as Rena is concerned.”

It was a ridiculous accusation. Rena had argued privately with Arjuna on a half-dozen issues, usually winning those arguments and getting what the family needed. But she never bragged about these small victories to the women. No one else even knew they had occurred. That would only fuel those who still griped about being here. They would use those arguments as proof that coming along had been a mistake. It didn’t matter that
all
ships had arguments like the ones Rena had with Arjuna. It didn’t matter that all families operated that way. It had happened every day aboard El Cavador. People argued. Disagreements were voiced on how things should be done. Opposing viewpoints were considered. Compromises were made.