He leans back and looks down at his hands.
“Well,” he says. “Actually, I don’t suppose that’s entirely true. Once the last natural colonist is dead, the central processor will start pulling copies of you out of the tank, and it will presumably continue doing so for as long as it is able.” He looks up again, and gives me a grim half smile. “So, that’s what you have to look forward to, Barnes. A series of brief, painful lives, wandering the dark, frozen, empty corridors of a dead colony. How does that sound? Are you feeling a bit more motivated now?”
003
“YOU WERE RIGHT,” Berto says. “We’re totally boned.”
He ducks into our room and lets the door swing closed behind him. Nasha and I are on the bed, which is pretty close to the only place it’s possible to be in our room. Nasha is leaning against the wall with her knees drawn up to her chest. I’m stretched out beside her with my hands folded behind my head. Berto drops into the desk chair and leans forward with his elbows on his knees.
“I talked to my pal Dani in Engineering. There’s definitely something up with the reactor. She wouldn’t say what the problem was, exactly, but she said they’re cutting power usage to the bare minimum across the board until they can get whatever it is fixed. The thing is, though—we don’t have redundancy for a lot of the critical reactor components. If it’s the feed mechanism, they might be able to get something replaced, but if there’s an issue with the reaction chamber or the generation system—”
“It’s not any of that,” I say. “It’s worse. We’re running out of fuel.”
Berto opens his mouth, hesitates, then closes it again.
“Yeah,” Nasha says. “That’s pretty much what I said.”
“No,” Berto says. “That’s not possible. Even with what you handed over to the creepers, we should have enough antimatter in the tanks for another ten years.”
I shrug. “Apparently there was an accident. Something went wrong when they fed the fuel from my bomb back into the system two years ago, and I guess it just came to a head last week. Marshall said we came within ten seconds of a completely uncontrolled reaction, and by the time they’d gotten the situation back under control they’d spoiled most of our remaining stores.”
Berto’s eyebrows come together at the bridge of his nose. “Spoiled? That doesn’t make sense. How do you spoil antimatter?”
I sigh, sit up, and scoot back until I’m sitting next to Nasha. “I don’t know, man. Leave it out in the sun too long? I’m just repeating what Marshall told me.”
Berto leans back, almost tips the chair over backward before catching himself on the desk, then folds his arms across his chest and pretends that didn’t just happen. “And why would Marshall be talking to you about this? For that matter, why would Marshall be talking to you about anything? Aren’t you still on his shit list?”
“Oh yeah, he’s definitely still on the shit list,” Nasha says. “Best I can guess, Marshall is seeing this as a two-birds kind of situation. He wants Mickey to get the second bomb back from the creepers so we don’t all starve to death when the weather turns, and if that means he gets to kill him afterwards, that’s just gravy.”
“Huh,” Berto says, and turns to look at me. “So you’re gonna do it, right?”
Nasha and I trade a quick glance. I still haven’t told Berto what really happened to that bomb, and I’m not thinking this is a good time to change that.
“It’s complicated,” Nasha says. “Remember, that bomb is the only thing that’s been keeping Mickey out of the corpse hole for the last two years. If he brings it back, there’s nothing keeping Marshall from ending him.”
“That’s great,” Berto says, “but that fuel is the only thing that’s going to keep the rest of us out of the corpse hole for the next two years.”
“Actually,” I say, “the corpse hole draws more power than any other single system in the dome. If it comes to that, we’ll probably just wind up going old school and burying each other.”
“Doubtful,” Nasha says. “We’ll be starving by then. Eating each other is more likely.”
Berto straightens now, and scoots a half meter back toward the door. “I don’t think I like how comfortable you are with saying that.”
Nasha grins. “Don’t worry, Berto. I promise to save you for last.”
“Anyway,” I say, “cannibalism aside, this whole thing hinges on one question: Do we believe what Marshall is telling us? I’m no Miko Berrigan, admittedly, but this whole business about antimatter spoiling sounds kind of made up to me—and I don’t exactly feel a bond of trust with the commander these days.”
“What?” Berto says. “You think he’s lying?”
Nasha shrugs. “The thought had crossed our minds.”
Berto shakes his head. “The power restrictions are real. He’s not faking our grounding.”
“Come on,” I say. “You said yourself that your sorties have been a complete waste of time and energy. If Marshall is up to something, shutting those down would be a pretty painless way to make it seem like there was a problem, no?”
“Maybe,” Berto says. “What about Dani, though?”
Nasha shakes her head. “From what you said, Dani didn’t tell you jack shit. All she said was that they’re cutting power until they can get something fixed, right? That doesn’t sound like what Marshall told Mickey.”
“Huh.” Berto leans back again, more gently this time, then reaches up to scratch the back of his head. “So you think Marshall is ginning up a fake emergency? Why would he do that?”
Nasha rolls her eyes. “That’s the easy part, Berto. He wants the bomb back, and he wants to kill Mickey. Like I said—two birds.”
Berto looks to me, then to Nasha, then back to me. “So you think Marshall is screwing with the entire colony’s power supply, spreading rumors that are likely to start a panic if they get around, just so he can murder Mickey one more time?”
“You have to admit,” Nasha says, “murdering Mickey is one of his favorite things to do.”
“Look,” I say, “we’re not saying this is definitely what’s happening—just that it’s a possibility. I saw the way he reacted when I told him that I knew something was up with the reactor. Unless he’s a world-class actor, it wasn’t fake. I believe there’s something going on. I’m just not sure I totally believe it’s exactly what he’s saying it is. If I bring that bomb back here, I’m basically putting my head on the block. I’d rather not do that unless I’m one hundred percent sure it’s necessary.”
Berto shrugs. “It’s probably a moot point anyway, isn’t it? I mean, what are the odds the creepers actually turn that thing back over to you? I sure as hell wouldn’t if I were them.”
“I … think I can convince them to give it up.”
“Truth,” Nasha says. “Mickey’s very persuasive.”
Berto’s eyes narrow. “I feel like I’m missing something.”
“Really?” I say. “You think I’m not being totally honest with you? Like maybe … I don’t know … I’m hiding critical information related directly to your survival from you because I think it might make me look bad?”