“We can’t come back immediately,” said Father. “Toron and I are still inside one of the wrecks. We’re moving back to the quickship now, but it will be ten minutes before we reach it. We won’t get back to you in time. Don’t wait for us. If you need to run or move elsewhere, do it now. We’ll catch up to you later if we can.”
“Concepcion won’t like that,” said Dreo.
“She doesn’t have much choice,” said Father.
El Cavador clicked off. Victor hit his talkback: If the ship had abandoned radio silence, there was no need for him to adhere to it now. “Father, what happened?”
Father sounded solemn. “We found Faron shortly after we came inside. He was dead. There were a lot of people in this one, Vico. None of them made it. We had to cut through some heavy debris in one of the corridors to reach the rear of the wreck. We knew it would take a while, but we went for it anyway. It didn’t pay off.”
Victor said nothing. Faron. Dead. Here inside this wreck. That meant this was Vesuvio, Janda’s ship; it meant that if they were going to find Janda, it would likely be here. Faron would have stayed close to her; he would have protected her. Yet Father and Toron hadn’t found her; Father would have said so if they had.
They weren’t going to find her, Victor realized. Ever. It had been an unlikely possibility from the beginning, but Victor had still clung to hope. Now that lingering chance was gone. Alejandra was dead. Nine survivors was more of a miracle than they could have hoped for.
Father and Toron emerged from the hatch. They deflated the bubble and flew back up to the quickship. Toron looked vacant as he climbed back into the cockpit. Victor watched him, seeing that Toron had reached the same conclusion he had: Janda was gone.
Concepcion’s voice came over the radio. “We’ve moved to a more defensive position, but don’t come to us if you have enough air. The pod is nearly here, and you may be safer where you are. We’ve managed to get a communication line to the survivors, and we’ve learned more about what we’re up against. The survivors believe the pod is drawn to heat. It stopped at their position and sat there for hours doing nothing. The Italians tried communicating with it, but the pod was nonresponsive. Then, without provocation, it flew to the rear of one of their ships, clung to it with grappling arms, and began probing the ship’s engines with long, thin drills, like needles almost. The drills went in like a ‘knife through hot butter,’ they said, hardly any resistance at all. The pod was systematic about it, as if looking for something. The first ship blew up before anyone knew what was happening. At first the Italians thought the pod had planted an explosive, but it appears the probing of the engines is what caused the detonation. That’s why the debris looks ripped apart. It blew up from within. As for the pod, it sustained no visible damage. Not even the needle drills. The other ships fired their lasers, but the pod moved quickly to the engines of the second ship and repeated the process. The pod took several direct hits, but again, no damage. Either it’s shielded or its hull is impermeable to lasers. It might not attack us, but if it does, we’ll destroy it. Bahzim has a team of miners already outside with penetrating tools. If it lands on our engines, we’ll rip it to shreds.”
“Did it have any other weapons?” asked Father.
“None that the Italians could detect. Just the probing needle drills. It’s also much smaller than we thought. Maybe a quarter the size of El Cavador. The Italians believe it’s designed for atmospheric entry and exit, though probably not in really strong gravity, by the looks of its engines and design. It could land on and leave from, say, Earth, but it might have trouble with Jupiter. That’s conjecture, though, and not necessarily helpful.”
“Anything is helpful,” said Father. He quickly gave her his own report and informed her that they had found Faron’s body but no survivors.
“I’m sorry to hear it,” said Concepcion. “Once we destroy the pod and make needed repairs, if any, we’ll resume the search. In the meantime, hold your position. If you don’t hear from us afterward, come to us. We may not be able to contact you, and we’ll likely need you for repairs.” She paused a moment, then added, “Que Dios les proteja.” May God protect you.
“Y ustedes tambien,” said Father. And you as well.
The radio went silent, and no one spoke for a moment.
“She doesn’t think they’ll survive an attack, does she?” Victor asked.
“I don’t think so, no,” said Father. “And she has every reason to believe so. The Italians tried to stop it and couldn’t. It got all four of their ships, and they all were desperately fighting to the end.”
“El Cavador doesn’t have a chance,” said Toron. “This thing took laser fire. Direct hits. We can’t let it reach the ship.”
“What do you suggest?” asked Father.
“Bahzim has a team outside with penetrating tools. We have the same tools here. Spreaders, shears, cold sprayers. We’re closer to the pod than they are. It will be coming from this direction. When it passes, we get behind it and attack it from the rear. We’ll have to come in slightly from the side to avoid its thrusters, but we hit its hull, climb out, anchor ourselves to whatever we can, and destroy anything that moves with the tools. Maybe we can disable these grappling arms or needle drills. If we cripple it enough, it can’t inflict any damage.”
“It’s going to be moving,” said Father. “If we’re off on our approach, even slightly, we’ll miss it.” He turned to Victor. “You only just learned to fly this thing, Vico. Can you do this? Can we hit it?”
Victor blinked. They were going to attack the pod. Alone. With rescue gear. “I’d need to make some adjustments to the program to give us more propulsion; we can’t match it with our current speed. We’ll need to be much faster. But even then, I won’t have a guidance system. It will be like shooting a bow, with us as the arrow. If I track it right, and judge our speed right, it might work. But it will largely be guesswork. The challenge will be securing ourselves to the hull once we reach it. How do we anchor? We’ll need to cling to the hull long enough to get out of the ship with tools.”
“Leave that to me,” said Father. “You worry about getting us into a position to attack.” He clicked on the radio. “El Cavador, this is Segundo. Give me the exact location, trajectory, and speed of the pod based on our current position.”
“What are you planning?” asked Concepcion.
“A bit of sabotage,” said Father. “We might be able to do some damage before it reaches you. And don’t argue with us. You know it makes tactical sense, and we’re doing it whether you approve or not. We’ll simply have a better chance of success if you help.”
After a pause, Concepcion answered, “Selmo will give you the coordinates. Be careful, Segundo. I need my two best mechanics and my sky scanner alive.”
“You need everyone on board El Cavador alive,” said Father.
Selmo gave them the coordinates. The numbers meant little to Victor. But for Toron, a sky scanner, the coordinates were a second language he spoke fluently. Even without instruments, using only the placement of stars around them, Toron knew precisely where the pod would be coming from. He gave directions to Victor, who turned the quickship around and flew them through the debris, weaving this way and that until Toron felt certain about their position. Victor fired the retros and settled in a patch of shadow behind a large piece of debris.
“He’ll be coming right through here,” said Toron, making a sweeping gesture with his arm, showing them the expected trajectory.
Victor rotated the quickship so it was pointed in the direction to intercept the pod once it passed. Toron gazed outward with his visor zoomed to maximum, searching the sky for the pod, waiting. Father worked furiously behind Victor, making hooks for the cables. Using the shears, he snipped bars from the quickship’s walls and bent them with another hydraulic tool, jury-rigging a hook.