wondered.
The galley was jammed with crew members eating dinner. Victor had to squeeze in at a table already occupied by six of his mates.
“Took the day off, didja?” one of the men said, elbowing him in the ribs hard enough almost to make Victor slosh the coffee out of his mug as he edged his tray between the others already on the table.
“The easy life,” joked the woman sitting across the table from him, grinning widely at him.
“I wasn’t up to it today,” Victor said, turning his attention to the dinner tray before him.
One of the other women said, “We heard about what you picked up yesterday, Vic.”
The table fell silent.
Victor put his fork down and looked up and down the table. They were all staring at him.
With a shrug he said, “Let’s forget about it.”
“Yeah. Shit happens.”
“Not much you can do about it.”
They all started eating again.
Victor half-finished his meal, then hurried back to his own cubicle. A message was blinking on the wall screen above his bunk: REPORT TO CAPTAIN’S QUARTERS AT 2000 HOURS.
“Aye-aye, captain,” he muttered.
At precisely 2000 hours, dressed in fresh coveralls, Victor rapped smartly on the frame of the captain’s sliding doorscreen.
“Enter,” she called.
He slid the door back and stepped in. Captain Madagascar was still in her black uniform, sitting at her desk. She blanked the computer screen and got to her feet.
“Exactly on time. Good.”
“I went through the medical—”
“I know,” said Cheena Madagascar, jerking a thumb toward the dead display screen. “I reviewed your medical records. You’re in good condition, physically and psychologically.”
Victor nodded.
She slid a partition back and Victor saw a kitchenette laid out along the bulkhead: steel sink, minifridge and freezer, microwave, cabinets overhead.
“Had your dinner?” the captain asked.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I haven’t.” She pulled a prepackaged meal from the freezer. “Sit down, relax.”
The little round table in the middle of the room was already set for two, he saw. He pulled out one of the delicate little chairs and sat on it carefully.
“Want some wine?” the captain asked as she slid the dinner package into the microwave.
“You said I shouldn’t drink anything alcoholic.”
She broke into a wry grin. “I told my daughter I didn’t want her to give you any alcohol. That doesn’t mean you can’t have a glass of wine with me.”
Thinking of the detox dialysis, Victor said, “I’d better stay away from—”
Cheena Madagascar interrupted, “When the captain invites you to have a glass of wine, you say, ‘Thank you, captain. I’d be delighted.’ ”
Victor saw where this was heading. With a shrug he said, “Thank you, captain. I’d be delighted.”
He sipped at the chilled white wine slowly as she ate her dinner. The wine tasted like biting the cold steel blade of a knife.
“We’re almost finished with this body hunt, you know,” the captain told him as she chewed away. “There’s only a few dozen more to account for.”
“George Ambrose won’t be satisfied until every single one is found,” Victor said.
Madagascar nodded. “He’s got the clout to make ’em do what he wants.”
“Them?”
“The IAA. Selene. The university consortium that runs the research stations orbiting Jupiter and Venus. The big-ass corporations.”
“The powers that be,” Victor muttered.
“If they don’t do what Big George wants, the rock rats won’t supply resources.”
“What’s left of the rock rats.”
“There’s plenty of ’em left. The people on
“My family’s out there somewhere,” Victor said.
Madagascar took a healthy slug of wine. Putting the stemmed glass down on the tabletop, she said, “Face it, Zacharias: Your family’s most likely dead.”
“No,” he said.
“You know better than that,” she insisted. “If they’re not dead already they’re as good as dead, drifting out there in the Belt somewhere. Nobody’s going to find them.”
“I will.”
“You will? How?”
“I’ll need a ship.”
“Damned right you will.”
And then it hit him. “And I’ll need Big George’s clout.”
Captain Madagascar smiled like a lynx. “I could help you with Big George. And with this ship.”
Victor nodded. He knew what she wanted in return.
ORE SHIP
BACKUP COMMAND POD
The command pod was crowded with all three of them in there. Theo felt the body heat of his mother and sister, the tension of their anxieties, their expectations, their fears.
“Three minutes to go,” he said, trying to keep his voice firm and clear.
He was sitting in the command chair. Theo had configured the electronic keyboard to control the propulsion system program. Now his eyes were fixed on the main display screen. Almost everything in the green, so far. Angie was standing behind him on one side, his mother on the other.
Pauline placed her hand on his shoulder. He glanced up at her.
“Theo, I want you to remember that this was a family decision. We all agreed to do it.”
“I know, Mom.”
“If it doesn’t go right, I don’t want you to blame yourself. We’re all in this together.”
Angie said, “It’ll go right, Mom. Don’t worry.”
Theo thought that his sister’s voice sounded high and brittle. Angie’s worried too, he thought, but she doesn’t want to show it.
Theo focused his attention on the control board. He and Angie had checked the pumps that fed the main engine a dozen times. With their mother helping them, they had inspected every centimeter of the propulsion system’s piping and electrical wiring. The board showed no red lights, only a pair of ambers and they were minor backup circuits, not crucially important; everything else was in the green.
“Two minutes and counting,” the computer’s synthesized voice said. Theo realized the computer sounded almost exactly like his father’s voice. Naturally, he thought. Dad programmed it himself.
They heard a thump and a groaning rattle from deep in the bowels of the ship. Before Angie or his mother could say anything, Theo told them, “Main pump powering up.”
Angie was leaning over his shoulder now, squinting at the countdown checklist displayed on the screen to his right. “Open the hydrogen feed lines at T minus ninety seconds.”
He nodded and placed his finger on the proper key. It’s programmed to open automatically, but I’ll punch the
