“The only way for us to exploit the Orbitech 2 site—all the resources left there.”
He kept a smile off his face as Magsaysay reacted. Sandovaal continued. “Did we not learn from our pigheaded ancestors, who were so enamored of the old ways that they refused to accept help, to consider more efficient methods of production?” A sudden vision of tractors rusting in rice paddies filled his head.
“Yes, we can survive and live forever in our little colony. We will keep the status quo and never achieve anything else. And when the Americans survive and reach higher and higher, we will be their little brown brothers again, even if we outnumber them two hundred to one. Look what happened to the Chinese, and they outnumbered the Americans by a thousand times!”
Sandovaal narrowed his eyes and leaned across the table to the president. “We sent Ramis to Orbitech 1 because we believed in helping people. It is time now to help ourselves. With the weavewire, we can safely Jump to the construction site and ferry all the supplies back here. The American crew left plenty of things there, including superior computers, materials, tools. With that, perhaps we can maintain our position as equals.”
Magsaysay shifted uncomfortably. “Improving our way of life is one thing—changing our culture is a different matter.”
Dobo seemed about to say something, but Sandovaal jutted out his jaw. “If we are growing antibiotics, then it is all right! But using the processing plant left at Orbitech 2, that is forbidden? This is like a race. Everyone else is riding a horse. We should not insist on walking because we are too lazy to look in the stable.”
The two men stared at each other. Sandovaal had known Yoli Magsaysay for scores of years. They had butted heads often, but they shared the goal of bettering the Filipino people. Down Magsaysay’s path, the Filipinos would keep to themselves, and the wall-kelp would see them through—just barely. But down the other path, they faced the danger of losing themselves and their culture, becoming ensnared with the Americans’ obsession with breakneck progress. Or what was left of it.
But the Aguinaldo also had the opportunity to hold its own, to be equals instead of patronized “little brothers.”
Sandovaal smiled plaintively. It was all an act, and he knew it. Magsaysay knew it, too. “Yoli, I followed you into space because I believed in your dream for us. Now I am asking you to follow my dream.”
After some moments, a grin came to Magsaysay’s lips, then he sighed. “You, my friend, have a point. But tell me—how will we get the weavewire to the Aguinaldo? Assuming Orbitech 1 will even give it to us.”
“We gave them the wall-kelp, did we not?” Dobo interrupted. “How can they refuse our request?”
Sandovaal shot a sidelong glance at Dobo. “Ramis used a sail-creature; so can we. And if we carry other sail-creature nymphs with us, and launch them at appropriate times during our flight, we can complete the circle and sail back to the Aguinaldo.”
Magsaysay looked puzzled. “Who is ‘we,’ Luis? Only a few of us have Ramis’s tenacity to survive the journey.”
Sandovaal looked surprised. “Why, Dobo and myself, of course. Who better to ensure that the sail-creatures will make it back?”
A chair tipped over and clattered to the deck. Both men turned, startled at the sound. Dobo lay crumpled on the floor.
Sandovaal shrugged. “You see, Yoli? He has fainted with the excitement.”
Chapter 31
L-5—Day 39
Ramis felt regret the moment he Jumped from Orbitech 1. He knew the measured burst from the MMU added to his velocity, but he could not tell the difference. He was always bouncing from situation to situation, afraid to stay in one place too long. He always felt he had to show off, to take risks, to push himself to the edge.
The glaring metal hull of the industrial colony rushed away from him, rotating slowly around its axis. The weavewire trailed behind him, drawn out of its chamber on Orbitech 1’s nonrotating section, dangling him like a lure on a long fishing line. This time he felt vulnerable and alone without the protective womb of Sarat around him.
Relax, he told himself. This journey would not be as long as his previous one. Depending on how much force he had used to push himself away from Orbitech 1 and the extra thrust from the MMU, it might take him six hours to cross the gap, or it might take a full day.
The Kibalchich looked so far away. It would be a long time before he would notice it growing any closer. He drifted with absolutely no sense of motion. The Soviet colony, Earth, the stars, even the gibbous section of the Moon, seemed to hang like props in a silent movie. The stars did not help; cold and bright, they peppered the vast darkness with an immovable reference frame.
Twisting his head around, but careful not to pull the weavewire across his MMU pack, Ramis assured himself that he was indeed receding from the American colony. The video camera on his chest would record everything he saw.
He tried to estimate how fast he was drifting. His depth perception grew worse the farther he moved away, making it harder to judge.
A voice from the Orbitech 1 control bay came over the link, answering the question before he could ask it. “We’ve got him at a velocity of four point eight meters per second—”
Ramis finished the calculation in his head: that was about seventeen kilometers per hour. Divide that into a hundred kilometers to the Kibalchich. The trip would take him six hours. Not as good as he’d hoped, but he couldn’t change now without jetting from his MMUs, and he needed to reserve the fuel there for corrections. For good or bad, his course had been set.
Ramis could hear Curtis Brahms and Karen speaking to each other. Karen wanted to remain outside for as long as possible, ostensibly to monitor the weavewire dispensing cavity. Ramis knew she felt as much urgency to get off the claustrophobic colony as Ramis did, but she didn’t seem willing to admit it to herself.
Ramis tuned out the radio chatter in his helmet, the babble of reassuring comments, good wishes, redundant instructions. He was by himself now, in control of everything in his own small environment. Despite the constant sensation of falling, he felt somehow at peace.
He let his arms and legs dangle loose. The closed environment of his suit felt huge and bulky, but not uncomfortable. As he sweated, the temperature controls of the suit cooled his skin. He felt nothing—nothing to touch, nothing to feel. He sensed the mass of the air tanks, the MMU pack, the sealed boots, but none of that mattered in weightlessness.
He was swimming in the ocean of space, tethered by a line so thin it was invisible to the eye. He’d have to hang there for hours, vulnerable.
The thought of a solar flare spewing out deadly protons and x-rays gnawed at the back of his mind. If that happened, he would be drilled by high-energy particles, fried crisper than a “dog on a log” back home on the Philippines.
He wished he could use the MMU again to add to his velocity, speed up the trip. Maybe he could use one of the air tanks. With nothing else to occupy him, Ramis began to run through mathematics in his head. If he doubled his velocity and finished the trip in half the time, he’d need only half as much air. And he could use compressed air from his tanks as easily as he could use propellant gas in the MMU. A couple of blasts from the nozzle of an air tank, and he could double, maybe even triple his speed. And if he did get inside the Soviet station, he could recharge his tanks. That meant he really only needed enough air for one way, not two.