his descent. Two seconds later he was bringing his feet up in front of him.
Touchdown. His boot magnets-thankfully-held to the surface. A disc magnet with a handgrip was already in his left hand. He reached down to the surface and anchored his upper body with the magnet while his right hand released the D-ring from the cable, all in one fluid movement as they had rehearsed.
He scooted to his right, getting clear of the cable, making room. The others arrived behind him. Chepe, Pitoso, Bulo, Nando, and the rest, with Bahzim picking up the rear. Segundo looked ahead of them. Lem Jukes’s crew was coming down a cable from the Juke ship maybe three hundred meters away. Even at a distance Segundo could see that the Juke suits and gear were far superior than anything El Cavador men had.
“Spread out,” said Bahzim. “Be back on the line in twelve minutes.”
Segundo was on his hands and knees, crawling forward, keeping his body low, getting as far away from everyone else as he could. The idea was to disperse and set the explosives far apart to create a wide circle of damage. Segundo’s knee and hand magnets held him securely to the hull, but they were cumbersome and difficult to move. He had to pull hard on each leg to momentarily break the attraction and lift the magnet enough to move it forward. It was agonizing and far more difficult than their rehearsals. After twenty meters, his thighs were burning, and his breathing was heavy.
He could see now that the surface of the ship wasn’t as smooth as it had appeared at a distance. There were thousands of closed apertures in rows running the length of the ship, like planted fields of crop. Each aperture was as big around as Segundo’s helmet, and he knew that if any of them opened it would be to unleash their weapon. He tried not putting any weight on the apertures for fear that the magnet might trigger something and open them. It was like crawling across a minefield.
Finally he stopped and looked around him. The men from both ships were spread all over the surface. Some were laying explosives; others were still crawling forward; several explosives were already set, each with a small blinking green light, indicating the explosive was live. Segundo removed his first explosive from his pouch and set it gently on the surface. He inserted the blasting disc into the slot then set the timer to detonate three hours from now.
They had agreed to radio silence during this phase of the operation so that they could all concentrate on setting the charges without interruptions. But suddenly everyone was yelling. Segundo lifted his head and saw that one of the explosives had gone off prematurely, ripping through the hull and throwing up debris. The voices in his helmet were fast and frantic.
“What happened?”
“Pitoso’s dead!”
“It blew up right under him!”
“What do we do?”
“Get back to the cable. Set your explosives and get back to the line. Move!”
Segundo’s explosive was blinking green, set. He left it and turned toward the mooring cable at least thirty meters away, a good five-minute crawl. They weren’t going to make it, he realized. Even if they got back to the line and up to the ship, they couldn’t fly El Cavador away fast enough. The whole operation relied on them getting in and out and then a safe distance away without being detected, before the Formics could respond. That wasn’t going to happen now. The Formics knew they were here.
Segundo crawled faster, not bothering to avoid the apertures this time. His thighs burned. His arms ached. Sweat ran down his forehead and into his eyes. The blast site was in front of him, between him and the cable-he would have to go around it. As he drew closer, up the curvature of the ship, the hole from the explosion came into view. It was a meter wide and stretched between two rows of apertures. Segundo looked down inside but saw nothing but darkness and shadows.
“Let’s go,” Bahzim was shouting. “Move!”
Segundo pulled out his last two explosives, set them on the ship’s surface beside one another, and quickly slid in the discs. Before setting the timers, he glanced up. Two men had made it to the line. Segundo couldn’t see who they were. He watched as they clipped their D-rings onto the line and launched upward, soaring away from the ship toward El Cavador.
Segundo returned his attention back to the explosives and began setting the timers. A moment later Chepe was shouting over the radio. “There’s movement here. Something’s coming up out of the hole.”
Segundo looked up. Chepe had come to the edge of the hole but was now retreating back from it as shapes emerged from the darkness. Two Formics in spacesuits, carrying equipment, crawled out onto the surface quick and insectlike with the patter of many legs. Two more followed them. Then three after that. A few of the Formics carried thick plates. Others had oddly shaped tools and machines.
They’re a repair crew, Segundo realized. They think something struck their ship and they’ve come out to fix it. They had no idea we were here.
The Formics stood still and kept their distance, regarding the men on the ship in a rather unemotional, calculating way, as if they were more intrigued by the humans’ presence than threatened. Then one of the Formics looked directly at Segundo, and the demeanor of all of them changed in an instant. In unison, they all turned their heads toward Segundo, and their flat, yet frightening expressions became even darker and more menacing. It was as if they recognized Segundo.
Two of the Formics released their tools and charged him. Segundo couldn’t retreat. There was nowhere to go. He gripped his hand magnets tightly, pulled his knees up away from the surface, twisted his body, and kicked out with his legs as hard as he could when the first Formic lunged. The creature wasn’t expecting it, and Segundo felt his boots break bone as they drove into the Formic’s chest. Its mouth opened in agony, and its hold on the ship broke. It flew off the ship in the direction it had been kicked.
“Help him!” someone was yelling.
The second Formic lunged. Segundo didn’t have time to get his feet back under him. A kick struck him in the abdomen, then another. Pain shot through him. The Formics were small, but they had the strength of something three times their size. He swung out with the hand magnet, connecting with the Formic’s helmet. The creature retreated a few steps, spread its lower legs apart in a fighting stance, and opened its mouth, bearing its mucus- laced maw and teeth. Segundo could almost hear it hissing.
Behind him he could see other men engaged with Formics. Two men flew away from the ship, Formics clinging to them. Lost. Segundo heard their screams but could do nothing to help them.
The Formic lunged again, but now Segundo was ready. He swept with his legs, surprising the Formic and causing it to stumble. Then he swung out with his hand magnet, connecting again and cracking the Formic’s helmet. The Formic panicked, scrambling for purchase, and Segundo seized the moment to rotate his legs and lock them around the Formic’s waist. The Formic kicked out, but its body was turned the wrong way. Segundo came down with the hand magnet again and again, striking the helmet visor with all of his strength. The Formic thrashed and bucked, but then the visor shattered under repeated blows. Segundo kicked the creature away from him, and the Formic flew upward, flailing its arms and legs. Its air hose stretched out until it snapped taut, but the creature continued to thrash about.
Segundo rotated, getting his legs back under him, and made for the cable. All over the surface of the ship, men were fighting off Formic attacks and hurrying to their respective cables. Two Juke men fell away from the ship. Then another. Then someone from El Cavador-Segundo couldn’t see whom.
A Formic to his left was bent over one of the explosives, poking at it quizzically. The explosive detonated, vaporizing the creature and tearing another hole in the hull, momentarily blinding Segundo with the blast.
Instantly the Formics changed their tactics, abandoning those they were fighting and hurrying to the explosives nearest them, pulling the explosives away and throwing them out to space.
“They’re peeling off the charges,” said Bahzim.
A Formic near Segundo was trying to pry one of his explosives free. Segundo hurried toward him, but the Formic was faster, throwing the explosive clear of the ship. Segundo didn’t stop. He swung with the hand magnet and connected with the creature. The Formic took the blow, but then, instead of fighting back, it reached for and pulled on Segundo’s magnets, desperately trying to break Segundo’s hold on the ship.
More hands were suddenly grabbing Segundo, pulling at him, punching him, yanking on the magnets that held him to the surface. Three Formics, then four, all of them swarming all around him. These new ones weren’t wearing suits, he realized. They wore shoes on their feet that gripped to the hull and small, tightly sealed masks over their insect mouths, but otherwise they were unprotected, as if they hadn’t taken the time to suit up before rushing
