by Ginger Booth
“And can it be broken?”
“There is evidence that it cannot. From studying the ship at close range, it’s very old.”
“I miss your point, Yuri Industrievich.”
“It’s traveled a very long way at such speeds, sir. It withstands atmospheric re-entry as well as deep space. Possibly for a century. It survived. That’s a tough shield.”
“Ah. That kind of evidence, yes.”
The president tapped his standing-desk podium in thought. “Gentlemen. I asked you to secure the ship so that we might study it. And to secure the crew, that we might speak to them and learn. That would include the damned captain and first mate. But today you were to hold a reception! With cocktail wieners. Scientists happily comparing notes.”
“But sir, we needed to secure the ship!” Another uniform.
“Looks secure as a fortress to me.” Voronin didn’t bother to remember his name, merely flicked him to join Grubov in the gutter. “Let us review. A plan could either succeed, or fail. What was the contingency plan for this travesty? When it failed?”
No one volunteered to answer that one.
“That’s what I thought. And what was wrong with my plan?” The president’s voice rose. “The one I promised this Colony Corps in orbit around Mars? Where we can’t touch him? The one I ordered you to implement! Wieners! And wine! My data is prettier than your data! A friendly party! Damn you to hell!”
He hated it when he lost his cool. He slammed the balls of his hands against the edge of his podium. He blew out and forced himself to think. Yes, Grubov and what’s-his-name would die, but that gave him no satisfaction. The cog work chain of idiots in line for promotion would advance one click, and he’d get the same results from the next of them. The stasis he maintained in Russia generated a never-ending supply of officers with no creative ability. They bore hammers, therefore every problem presented a nail.
“We don’t keep science staff at Baikonur,” one of the heads excused timidly.
“We could have brought some in,” Lupinski hastened to add, probably trying to protect an underling. “But Grubov said Baikonur is a secure base. My scientists don’t possess adequate clearance.”
Voronin didn’t bother to flick either of them to the gutter. He just sighed. “Lupinski, are you prepared to converse with these scientists? They are safe in their spaceship. We won’t bother them again. All deeply regrettable.”
Like the colonists would buy that. Well, they might. The ship was still effectively bottled up at Baikonur. Though Voronin wasn’t sure he believed that. The off-world crew might simply be waiting for their captain.
Lupinski said regretfully, “Sir, the head of their science team was shot during the assault. Another two injured beyond hope of recovery. Though one of those was an American. Wolf-seeming.”
Voronin pursed his lips. “They will be unfriendly. You will exert your charms.”
“Yes, sir.” Lupinski appeared to harbor doubts on his charms under the circumstances.
Voronin couldn’t fault the man’s brain on that score. “And Hakone? Have they agreed to deliver the captain and first mate?”
“Yes, sir,” volunteered his Ambassador. “Hakone is disappointed. But we exchanged some Chinese boat dissidents we held in reserve. The captain will be flown to Baikonur in the morning. Or might we prefer them in Samara? So you can meet them in person.”
Thank God someone knew how to do his job. “Yes, Samara. To protect them from the…initiative at Baikonur.”
This could work, Voronin supposed. If he demonstrated with executions that the assault was a regrettable lapse of minions. Lupinski’s geeks would play nice over comms with the scientists. And he kept the captain hostage against the ship – No, the man near Mars would not accept those amends in the slightest. This commandant rolled up his own sleeves to fix life support equipment at Mars One. God save him from starry-eyed humanitarians. What a mess.
Voronin sighed loudly. “Anyone else? No? Good. Next time when I ask you for cocktail wieners, you will recall today’s cluster-fuck. And deliver what I asked for. Cocktail wieners!” He banished them from his display with a savage swipe.
No followup was required on the men he’d condemned to the gutter. This was an automated procedure. They and their families would be executed promptly, with full video recordings filed. And their subordinate baboons would replace them, perchance to learn something from their predecessors’ choices. More likely they’d simply cover their asses for when their turn came.
Voronin collected his pool cue. He set up some interesting shots, while he rehearsed in his mind what he’d say to this Benjamin Acosta.
Darren ached to go to bed. He wasn’t too bad until he got physical policing up shattered barrels of fuel pellets. But this day, now suppertime in Baikonur, began 24 hours ago in Pontiac. Accumulated terrors, emotional lows and highs had long since caught up with him and passed by in a whoosh.
Instead he checked in at med-bay. Kaol lay on the gurney of honor, with Liam wrist-deep in his guts, sewing something. Darren had a strong stomach from association with his ex-wife all those years. But even he felt green at the sight. He apologetically slipped behind Zelda, roped in as surgical assistant, to look on the patient’s face instead. Normally golden-skinned, loss of blood left his face waxy and pale, and very young. Darren reached out a finger and traced his brow, untroubled and unaware.
He glanced up at the medical monitor screen. The engineer had done his share of biomedical, if only from proximity. The life signs looked feeble, the heart line jerking like a frightened thing instead of a steady strong beat. The other screen, Liam’s, showed closeups of the guts he was repairing. “Will he make it?”
“Not a fortune-teller,” Liam growled. “He’s in trouble. Or I wouldn’t operate.”
“But he has the Yang-Yang nanites.” Darren reached up and panned the monitor to check his blood work. And his heart fell. Yes, the Denali had nanites. But they’d only been administered a few days ago. Had they really arrived on this godforsaken planet just the other day? Seemed like forever in hell. “They didn’t have time to propagate?”
“Wouldn’t know,” Liam replied. “But if it’s up to my skill alone, his chances are poor.”
“I have every confidence in your skills, Liam. And the others?”
“Get out of my way, Darren!”
“Right.” He eased out and paused at the door. “You’re doing a fantastic job. We’re damned lucky to have you.”
The Sagamore surgeon glanced up and met his eye gratefully for just a moment. “Thanks. It won’t be enough. Not for him. Not for Three-Eight either. Nor Ivett.”
Darren pursed his lips at the grav-lifter where the wolf man lay, conscious. “Kaol is your priority.”
“Screw you!” Liam turned his back to the door. Maybe he just needed a different angle on a bit of intestine.
“Darren, a moment?” Eli lay draped sideways on the park bench under the scrubber trees in Thrive’s hold. Someone had inserted pillows to soften the hard seat and armrest, and a couple more to keep his bloody thigh elevated. Loosening the tourniquet occasionally appeared to be self-serve for the moment.
The chief tried to squat beside him, but his knees refused. He dropped onto his ass and sat cross-legged instead, rather than jar the botanist’s leg. This was a favored spot on Thrive. The trees were Eli’s invention. Their leaves cleaned the air of toxins and fixed them in poisonous fruit. He breathed deep, though the ship hadn’t been decontaminated yet.
“How are you holding up, Eli?”
“Looking forward to surgery. Liam promises to dig out the bone fragments and shattered bullet so they don’t ‘fester out.’” He supplied air quotes. “Don’t ever look up that term.”
Darren huffed a soft laugh. “I’ve seen it on Sass.”
Eli gazed morosely at his leg. “The thing is, chief, Three-Eight saved our lives out there. Liam operated on him first, to stabilize the leg, the accidental amputation. He assumed Kaol’s nanit
es would kick in, but they’re not enough. Liam’s doing a heroic job.”
“I know, on Liam. Three-Eight made the difference?”
“If it weren’t for him, the Earthlings would have an ESD interrupter rod. And Kaol would be dead already.” Eli shifted his position, wincing in pain. “Can we get them to Merchant?” Ben’s ship had not one auto-doc, but two, plus Sanjay, a doctor experienced in nanite technologies.
Darren’s thought processes trudged like Monday axle grease. “That could save Kaol. I’m not sure what happens on Three-Eight. First, if we give him nanites, he can’t go home again.”
The named man naturally pulled himself up onto his forearms, muzzle bitter. “I’m dead meat here. My people don’t treat an injury like this. If you can’t heal me, give me euthanasia. That’s our way.”
“It’s not our way,” Eli assured him. “Especially not after you saved our asses.” The second part was directed at Darren, with a raised eyebrow.
“Second,” the engineer plowed on, “what would nanites do to his…fur? They work by reasserting his DNA. But you weren’t born to be wolf-like, right?”
The wolf shook his head. “No. I was born human as you.”
“Eli, his implants interface at the neurological level. His eyes, nose, mouth, ears, they’re all reconfigured to be wolf-like. I don’t know that even Sanjay could work around what’s been done to him. I could ask.”
“So I’ll die?” Three-Eight challenged him. “Give me the suicide drugs now!”
Darren shook his head, and peered into his eyes. “You won’t die. We’re talking about how to regrow your leg. But reasserting your original DNA to your head, that’s a bit scary.”
The wolf man blinked, and stared at him. “You could…regrow my leg like Sass did? And make me look human again?”
“Not on this ship,” Eli replied. “And not this doctor. Liam saved your life. But those other technologies, he can’t use.”
“But you’re alright?” Darren pressed the botanist. “You’re on the mend?”
“Is festering really worse than the operation?”
The chief chuckled and clambered up. “Talk to the doc.” He stepped over to Three-Eight and gently pressed him to lie flat again. He paused to contemplate the man’s face. “Welcome to the crew of starship Thrive One. Currently attached to the Colony Corps. By friendship, anyway.”
The wolf man still struggled to get his mind around this conversation. “I live? Like this?”
“You live,” Darren agreed. “We can do better than this. Excuse me, I’m overdue to call Ben.”
“We should run, Darren,” Eli insisted. “Save them. Sass and Clay won’t die. Fidget might lose a day or three.”
Darren set his grav generator as low as it could go, 0.1 g. He stomped on the floor to propel himself up to the catwalk, then onward to Sass’s office and the ansible. But if Ben asked him to make another choice before he got some sleep, he’d curl up in a ball and cry.
41
Mars and Luna also developed major technological advances.
Over the ansible, Darren poured out his tale of woe to Ben. The commandant listened stonily until they reached the question of saving two men’s lives. “Liam isn’t sure he can save Kaol. And my crew feels the American belongs to us now.”
To his surprise, Ben sat up abruptly and keyed his own medic. “Sanjay? Two crew in trouble on Thrive One. Liam is in surgery. Darren, repeat what you just told me.”
The engineer gave rather more detail to Ben’s doctor. He explained his doubts on whether it was safe to use an auto-doc to regrow Three-Eight’s leg. And asked whether they guessed right, that Kaol simply hadn’t had his nanites long enough to proliferate through his system.
“He lost how much blood?” Sanjay inquired.
“Whew, looked like all of it.”
“That’s the main reason,” the doctor explained. “The working nanites are primarily blood-borne. But factory nanites embed in the bone marrow. Those manufacture new nanites. Liam is doing the right stuff. And please convey that to him, with my respects and sympathy. If you were here right now, yes, we could tuck Kaol into an auto-doc and his prognosis would be better. But it isn’t a race against time to get him to us. Liam needs to plug all the holes leaking blood, and keep the patient alive long enough for the nanites to replace themselves. There are nanites in his blood stream, yes? Just too few?”
“I believe so,” Darren confirmed. “We also have cryo.”
“That’s a last resort,” Sanjay agreed. “I won’t second-guess Liam. On the other man, yes, with high amputation, to regrow the leg is counter-indicated if we wait too long. If the leg has time to re-organize, grow scar tissue, then to regrow it we need to start with an even higher amputation. Halfway up the thigh, that’s a bad spot. But it can be done. As for his mosaics and implants… I wouldn’t tangle with those outside a hospital. I’d want round-the-clock intensive care staff. Neurologists and respiratory specialists on call, superior ICU nurses to monitor. The only place equipped for that is Mahina Actual. But it can be done.”
Darren nodded. That was as he expected. “But it’s not time-critical. Thank you, Sanjay.”
Ben added, “Sanjay? Could you please inform Tikki Cook about Kaol? And tell him I’ll speak to him as soon as I’m free. Thank you.” He clicked off. “My housekeeper is effectively Kaol’s next of kin. His ex.”
“I’m aware,” Darren murmured. “Should have thought of that.”
“You’re dead on your feet,” the commandant observed. “A few more minutes, then you need to crash for a few hours. Who’s in charge while you sleep?”
Darren’s head rolled in dismay. Eli and Liam were his top people after himself. Eli was in no shape to visit the ansible. He needed to stay down near the med bay. That left the housekeeper Corky as senior petty officer. “Do you have a preference between Corky and Porter? I don’t want to make another decision as long as I live.”
Ben chuckled darkly. “Matter of fact, I pick the housekeeper. Because while you’re sound asleep, I have a job for Porter. Zelda is…?”
“Liam’s surgical assistant at the moment. Also a bit…” Flighty.
“Good. Let me bring you up to speed on my end. Voronin, chief wazoo of Russia, explains that this was all a dreadful mistake by mental inferiors, who shall be punished.”
“No, you don’t say.”
“Exactly. The Russians are eager to resume scientific talks, and they understand that you shall do so from the comfort and safety of your own ship.”
“They got that right.”
“And Sass and Clay will be delivered to Samara tomorrow morning before noon. They never mention Enka. I didn’t either, not sure whether to draw attention to her.”
“Good news. If I believed them.”
“Right. So my suggestion, if you want one?”
“God yes.”
Ben huffed a laugh. “You sleep. There’s no substitute, because we need your brain. I can function on adrenaline and coffee. But you don’t have the reflexes.”
Darren considered the current shape of his little domain and his mouth hung open. He wanted his bed so badly it hurt. But! “I –”
“You must. Second, I tell this Voronin we are tentatively eager to resume scientific discussions in the morning. I lay it on thick that Eli is injured and our atmo specialist is an emergency nurse. But our agronomist would love to speak with them. Would he?”
“Rego hell yeah. Porter would give his eye teeth for someone to care.”
“He might feel differently in the morning. Because third, overnight, while you sleep, Porter helps Eli replicate Remi’s work here.”
Darren’s lips parted as his heart thumped faster. “You got me a jammer? Ben, I love you. I want to bear your children.”
“Remi devised the jammer. And he’ll be delighted to hear you said so. That is possible now, you know.” He should know. Four of Ben’s five kids were produced via male-male breeding, courtesy of Denali’s egg-free conception te
chnique. His daughter he even agreed to.
The engineer grimaced. “And this will let me run for it?”
The commandant wobbled a hand so-so. “You’ll get hurt. You’re short on skilled crew to patch the holes. And they’re taking Sass’s party to Samara, not Baikonur – fifteen hundred klicks away. So that Voronin might honor them in person. But you’ve got wounded. My call is that you prepare to run.”
Darren tried to think that news through, but his mind balked. To abandon the captain and first mate was unthinkable. Getting hurt he understood all too well. Jamming might keep his flanking rockets grounded, and prevent reinforcements. But he had jet aircraft holding station overhead. And he bet those pilots relied on the Mark One eyeball and trigger finger. And then he’d face the gauntlet of the satellite defenses. How to evade those was not pre-programmed into the auto-pilot’s run-to-L5 go button, and they pointed upward.
“That is the plan, Darren,” Ben said kindly but firmly. “And in the morning, after you’ve slept, you can rethink it. Now give me your blessing to proceed.”
He did say he wanted Ben to decide. “Bless you, my son. But don’t tell Remi I’ll bear his love-child.”
Ben’s eyes lit on the silvery screen. “No promises. What an awesome engineer the two of you might father together! Have Porter call me, and Corky mind the ansible. I want your head on the pillow inside of five minutes. Ben out.”
Ben’s five minutes turned to ten, as Porter balked at Darren’s orders. They stood by Eli’s park bench in the med-bay overflow zone.
“We can’t leave now! You don’t understand what we have here!” The young agronomist pointed from the shoulder, quivering with exhaustion and resolve, eyes shining.
Darren blinked blankly at the stretch of hull indicated. The bulkhead’s return regard was likewise blank.
“Not the wall,” Porter said peevishly. “Past the space port. We’re surrounded by vast sunflower fields!”
“Pretty,” Darren acknowledged, still at sea. He didn’t know what a sunflower was, or why one might grow them in industrial quantities. Bouquets?
