do so in an instant. His willingness to hand her over to fate to protect the rest of us shows, to me at least, a greater courage than I possess. It’s the smarter choice. The Italians aren’t defenseless. They can hold their own. Keeping our distance and being safe is the rational thing to do. It’s because of people like Toron that this family is still alive, Vico. Were I running things, we all would have died a long time ago.” He smiled and put a hand on Victor’s shoulder. “I fear I’ve made you too much like me, rash and bullheaded. Never for your own sake, but for those you love. That’s a good trait to have. But one day you may run this family, Vico, and if that happens, you’ll need to have some of Toron in you, too.”
Victor wanted to tell him then. All he had to do was open his mouth and say, “I’m leaving Father. I don’t know how. I don’t know when. But I will never lead this family because I can’t stay. I can’t take a wife here. I can’t raise children here. Not when everything I see around me reminds me of Janda.”
But Victor said nothing. How could he? The family needed Victor now more than ever? How could he even think of leaving? It was selfish. It was abandonment. Yet what could he do? Try as he might to seal off that part of his brain where memories of Janda were stored, he couldn’t. She was forever tied to this ship, and no event, not the starship, not the corporate attack, nothing could ever change that. Father left before Victor found the courage to say anything, and Victor removed his greaves and flew back to the engine room. He found Mono there, replacing a few of the burned-out circuits. “We’ve got a day to get this thing online, Mono.”
“Good luck,” said Mono. “It’s a piece of junk. It should have seen a scrapyard four hundred years ago.”
“They didn’t have space flight four hundred years ago. Besides, we don’t have a choice.”
He told Mono about the scout ship. He knew he probably shouldn’t, but the Council would find out soon enough, and then everyone on the ship would know. At first, Victor was worried that the news would frighten Mono. But to his surprise it had the opposite effect, with Mono all the more determined to get the generator up and running.
They worked long into sleep-shift. When they finished, nearly twelve hours later, they were both exhausted and filthy. “Flip the switch, Mono.”
Victor got the fire extinguisher ready, just in case, while Mono went over to the switch box and turned on the power. They had tried to reboot the generator several times over the past few days, but every attempt had failed: knocking sounds, burning components, an array of sparks. On several occasions they had cut the power as quickly as they had turned it on. Now, however, the generator slowly came to life. The readout screen flickered on. The motor whirred and grew stronger. The turbines spun and gained speed. No knocking. No sparks. No screeching of metal.
Ten seconds passed. Then fifteen. The roar of the turbines grew louder. Victor watched the numbers on the readout screen, his heart racing. The turbines were at 60 percent. Then 70. Then 85. The turbines were screaming now, the sound rattling the entire engine room. Then 95 percent. Victor looked at Mono and saw that the boy was laughing. Victor couldn’t hear the laughter over the roar of the generator, but the sight of it-along with the sudden release of all of Victor’s pent-up anxiety-set Victor to laughing, too. Laughs so big and long that tears came out of his eyes.
Victor stood in the airlock in his pressure suit, waiting for the ship to stop. Father was beside him, along with ten miners, all of them facing the massive bay doors. The three repaired PKs floated among them, with the miners holding them in place with bracing cables. Victor could hear the retros firing outside, slowing the ship. After a moment, the rockets stopped, and then Concepcion’s voice sounded in Victor’s helmet. “Full stop, gentlemen. Let’s make this repair quick, if we can.”
The Council had agreed to Concepcion’s recommendation: El Cavador would come to a complete stop, Victor and Father would install the repaired PKs, and the ship would accelerate to the Italians, still a day away. It hadn’t been an easy decision. Mother had told Victor after the fact that quite a heated discussion had preceded the vote, with many people siding with Toron and urging extreme caution, preferring to stop immediately and observe the scout ship among the Italians from a safe distance. The final vote to continue on as soon as repairs were made had passed by the slimmest of majorities.
Victor punched a command into the keypad on the airlock wall. There was a brief warning siren followed by a computer voice telling them the wide cargo doors were about to open. The computer voice counted down from ten, then the doors unlocked and slid away. All of the air inside the airlock was sucked out into space, and the star-filled blackness of the Kuiper Belt stretched out before them.
Victor’s HUD in his helmet immediately got to work. The temperature outside was negative three hundred and seventy degrees Fahrenheit, prompting the heating mechanism on his suit to compensate. Other windows of data told him oxygen levels, heart rate, suit humidity, and the vitals of everyone else in the group. A note from Mother also popped up: CHILI WAITING
WHEN YOU GET BACK. BE SAFE. KEEP AN EYE ON YOUR FATHER. LOVE, PATITA.
Father led the group outside, moving slowly in their boot magnets as they stepped beyond the airlock and out onto the hull. The miners pulled the weightless PKs along like floats at a parade. Once everyone was outside and clear, Father led them to a spot where one of the PKs had been sliced away. Victor had made new network and power sockets to replace those that had been cut, and he spliced in the new socket while the miners applied the new mounting plates. Victor then drilled in new holes for the bolts and stepped clear. Father and the miners moved the PK into position, and Victor bolted it in and plugged in the new socket. When done, Victor blinked out the necessary commands to reboot the laser and restore it to the collision-avoidance system.
Two hours later, after they had finished installing the last of the three lasers without any problems, Father asked them all to gather in a circle. Victor had known this moment was coming, but he hadn’t been looking forward to it. Gabi, Marco’s wife, had asked Father to release Marco’s ashes, as was the custom, and Father had agreed.
Victor and the ten miners silently formed a circle around Father, their boot magnets clinging to the hull, their hands folded reverently in front of them. Father pulled a canister from his hip pouch and spoke into his helmet comm. “We’re ready,” he said.
There was a moment’s pause, then Concepcion’s voice answered on the line, “We’re here, Segundo. Gabi and Lizbet and the girls and I. We’re all here on the line.”
Victor pictured Marco’s family gathered around one of the terminals at the helm. The crew would be giving the family space, standing off to the side, silent, with heads bowed.
Father crossed himself, placed a hand on the canister lid, and said, “Vaya a Dios, nuestro hermano, y al cielo mas alla de este.” Go to God, our brother, and to the heaven beyond this one. Father unscrewed the cap and gently shook the canister upward. The ashes left the canister in a clouded clump and moved away from the ship without dispersing. The men in the circle slowly dropped to one knee, crossed themselves, and repeated the words. “Vaya a Dios, nuestro hermano, y al cielo mas alla de este.” The men then held their position in silence while the family on the bridge bid their farewells.
“Vaya a Dios, Papito,” said eleven-year-old Daniella.
“Vaya a Dios, Papa,” said sixteen-year-old Chencha.
Their voices cracked and trembled with emotion, and Victor couldn’t bear it. He blinked out a command and muted the audio in his helmet. He didn’t want to hear Gabi say good-bye to her husband, or hear four-year-old Alexandria bid farewell to a father she would not likely remember a year from now. Marco deserved to raise his daughters. And Gabi, widowed and broken, deserved to grow old with such a man. Now, however, none of that would happen. Thanks to Lem Jukes all of it was lost.
Victor watched the ashes drift away, surprised that so great a man could be diminished to so little.
Victor and Father fixed the radio that evening in the workshop, though they had to dismantle a few holodisplays to get the parts they needed. When they were certain it was fixed, they took it directly to Concepcion’s quarters, which she shared with three other widows on the ship. Concepcion had insisted that they wake her the moment it was ready, and the three of them took the radio into one of the more spacious storage rooms and sealed the hatch.
“Have you checked all the frequencies?” asked Concepcion.
“Only two,” said Father. “Just enough to know it’s working.”
Concepcion took her handheld and called Selmo to the room. When he arrived, still drowsy from sleep, he began working with the radio. The four of them sat in silence while Selmo checked every frequency, searching for
