It would be on the Barrera boy’s conscience then. It was his fault the others would die—not hers.
Anna’s head pounded. Her throat felt raw. Her breathing came faster. She was hyperventilating. She was a doctor; she should know what to do. But her vision grew fuzzy with the crushing weight inside her head.
“Computer, display Orbitech 1 from exterior monitors.”
Once again the holotank flashed. Orbitech 1 appeared as a wavering blob, blurry. Anna wondered if tears had ruined her vision, but after knuckling her eyes she realized the image itself was distorted.
Something big blocked the view.
“Computer, focus! Center on any debris between the Kibalchich and Orbitech 1 that might cause a visual distortion. What is it?”
The holotank blur grew sharp, showing a long dark green object like an old Havana cigar but with stubs on the side, expanding out to a translucent matte that extended past the holotank’s edge. The computer drew back the view. A vast cluster of sail-creatures, like leaf butterflies, all hung together, gracefully settling down into the center of L-5. She saw dozens, connected in a mosaic pattern, immense and graceful.
She had never seen anything so awesome, so beautiful.
So fragile.
And as they drifted between the Kibalchich and Orbitech 1, directly in her line of fire like an impossibly delicate shield, they seemed to stop, to break apart.
Tears streamed down her face as she let out a moan, trying to block the nightmarish vision from her memory. Her lips trembled and she whimpered Rurik’s name to herself. She collapsed back into the command chair, shivering, and squeezed her eyes shut, swallowing herself in blackness.
“{{NINE HUNDRED SECONDS TO DETONATION.}}”
Chapter 60
L-5—Day 72
The sight from the external monitor showed the sail-creatures barely moving with respect to the rotating Kibalchich. Luis Sandovaal held his breath out of anticipation. The cluster of sail-creature bodies showed as glimmers against the starry sky. Sandovaal caught only a wisp of the organic sails as they extended across the gravity well, aiming for the heart of L-5.
The armada reached past Orbitech 1 and the Kibalchich, like a giant piece of tissue separating two armies. The sails would not appear to be a formidable foe, but the symbolism in the gesture should be clear to everyone on the two colonies. Any act of violence between the Kibalchich and Orbitech 1 would have to destroy the sail-creatures, and would thus be directed against the Filipino people as well.
Sandovaal pressed his lips together in a grim line. “Dobo, I hope you are ready to be brave,” he said into the direct communications link. “We will show these people that no one can stake a political claim again. Our actions affect all of the survivors away from Earth. We cannot behave like children on a playground.”
It was the only way they were going to survive, he knew. If anyone went against the unified body, then the human race might not survive. United we stand, and all those other patriotic sayings, he thought to himself.
Dobo’s voice came over the speakers. “I am glad you are here, Dr. Sandovaal. I hope Ramis will be all right.”
Sandovaal wondered why Dobo put up with so much from him here, so far away from the Aguinaldo. “I am glad you are here, too, Dobo,” Sandovaal whispered, but he kept his voice so quiet that he doubted Dobo could hear. Which was what he had unconsciously intended anyway.
Sandovaal watched the monitor. The Kibalchich and Orbitech 1 continued to orbit around L-5. The sail-creatures slid between them, a wall of passive resistance.
Luis Sandovaal switched the monitor from external back to the open intercolony ConComm. Orbitech 1 personnel yammered about the armada of sail-creatures being off course, but admitted that sails were difficult to steer anyhow. Sandovaal snorted. A separate window on the channel remained devoted to the ascent of the Phoenix.
The Aguinaldo had done its part in bringing the colonies together. And now Clavius Base had joined in the task. Sandovaal envisioned all the colonies connected by a lifeline of sail-creatures and weavewires. He felt confident that his ploy would work in preventing the Kibalchich from any aggressive act—if, in fact, it could be prevented.
Sandovaal felt warm, satisfied that his life’s work had played an integral part in the unification. The rest of the journey, and even the remainder of his career back on the Aguinaldo, would be spent tying up the loose ends of his work. He punched off the ConComm and moved to transmit a message that he had altered his course on purpose.
But as he reached for the control, his right arm went numb, ice cold. All feeling stopped. He tried to flex his hand—nothing. No pain, no feeling. He started to twist and felt a stab across his rib cage, through his stomach.
Heart attack, he thought. Strange that I feel no chest pain. I must contact Dobo and let him know.… He felt tired. Thoughts flashed into blackness, as if they were leaking out of his head. Dobo. Yes, Dobo can carry on. He had, after all, studied under one of the greatest biological engineers of all time.
Sandovaal coughed. Blood came out of his mouth, bubbling, boiling in tiny swirls and globules in zero-G. He had trouble breathing. Air whooshed past him. His eardrums pounded.
He noticed a small slit in the sail-creature cavity, growing wider. Air rushed out, water vapor crystallized, leaving a thin sheen of ice covering everything in the cavity.
They had flown into the weavewire.…
Unlike MacArthur, he knew he would never return.
As he died, Sandovaal cursed himself for his idiotic incompetence.
Chapter 61
ORBITECH 1—Day 72
Brahms exited the control bay with as much grace as he could muster to face the uprising. He held himself rigid to quell his anger and astonishment. His expression was like a mask of ice. The watchers in the control bay had bolted out into the maintenance corridor upon seeing the attackers—mutineers?—charge out the spoke-shaft elevators.
Two bodies drifted in the docking bay, surrounded by droplets of blood. They had murdered two of his Watchers! They had killed two people.
Brahms forced his outrage down. He wished he had his eyeglasses to hide behind, to make him look dignified.
Allen Terachyk floated up to Brahms. A mass of his supporters followed, and dozens more emerged from the elevator shaft. Terachyk wore a defiant, victorious expression.
Allen Terachyk—his only remaining division leader. They had all failed him—McLaris, Arnando, and now Terachyk. And Brahms himself had RIFed Tim Drury, perhaps the only one worth keeping.
As Brahms watched the approaching group, he drew himself up. He grasped the handhold on the wall, but found it slippery with his sweat. He would not—could not—allow the mutineers to know they had frightened him. It was the easiest way to lose control. He had come so close to bringing things back to normal, and now Terachyk was going to ruin everything. Brahms took a moment to center himself, to clear his thoughts. This was going to be the most difficult negotiation of his life.