He knew he shouldn't have left Rue and the others helpless in the balloon-hab. He cast about for something to take his mind off of that in these last minutes of free fall. Fear… Yes! He still couldn't remember when the kami of Dis had left him. He tried to focus on that. It hadn't been in battle, he knew that now. Before that, then… and he had it.
When Irina Case told him that his kami might be the means for reviving the spiritual life of New Armstrong, something had changed in Michael. He'd had no time to think about it then; he'd been arrested immediately afterward, but his kami were powerful and despite what he'd said to Irina, he now believed that he had not simply found them, but had created them; they were not real entities with lives of their own, they were his Art. With them, he had somehow strengthened Rue through her grief. Maybe his kami really could heal a whole world.
And then, as the interceptor fell into the fiery maw of Colossus, he'd had a momentary flash when he thought he understood Rue's Supreme Meme. Somehow, in that moment of insight, the dark whispering voices of Dis had departed for good.
This realization was so astonishing that he almost missed the interceptor. He made a frantic last blast with the pistol, and was actually able to touch the magnetic soles of his boots to the hull of the interceptor and grab the back end of the seed, before Barendts noticed him.
The marine whirled, laser raised.
"It's just me," said Michael. "Brilliant move, skiving off with this thing."
"Bequith!" Barendts laughed shakily. "Quick, let's get it inside. I think I know enough to pilot one of these through the drop; say, how'd you like a holiday on Kimpurusha?" He holstered the laser again.
Michael felt his heart leap at the name of his homeworld. "Kimpurusha? Is that where you're taking it?"
Barendts laughed again. "You never knew, did you? — That's where I was trained. Years after your people tried their insurrection— but they still knew you. I knew who you were when you first came on board the Spirit of Luna!"
"How?" Had rebel cells continued to exist on Kimpurusha after Michael's own uprising failed? No, that wasn't possible; they would have tried to contact him, surely.
"We had the same mentor," said Barendts. "You remember Errend, don't you?"
Michael's stomach turned over.
"He sure remembered you. You were… how did he put it? One of the pawns he had to sacrifice to convince the R.E. that Kimpurusha had gone quiet. But he always hoped you'd kept your allegiance and that we might activate you again. A farsighted man, Errend."
"Indeed." Michael looked over the seed to where Barendts was trying to wedge his end into the airlock. "Need a hand there?"
"Sure, buddy." Michael went around the seed and crouched by the open airlock next to Barendts.
"Why don't you just grab it there, and—"
In one motion Michael unholstered Barendts' laser, and kicked the marine off the interceptor.
"What the hell are you doing!" Barendts tumbled over twice before he got his reaction pistol in hand and steadied himself. "This is our only chance now, don't you get it? If Crisler gets away with the other seed, he'll be able to build a weapon we can't stop! Hell, one that even he can't stop! He'll win the war, Mike. Kimpurusha will have fallen for all time, and it'll be your fault!"
Michael regarded him calmly over the edge of the airlock. "What war is it that you're talking about?" He had to laugh at his own thick-headedness during the past months. "I know all about that war, I just spent the last five years of my life uncovering its victims with Professor Herat.
"Out there in High Space, the war is of all against all, and it goes on forever. No one needs anyone else if they can simply pull up roots and move a few light-years to get away— which works great until you run up against someone who's there already. That's the great lesson of the Chicxulub, isn't it? No matter how big the galaxy, its resources are finite— but with FTL, mobility isn't. Barendts, the result is always— always— the disintegration of the species into thousands of subspecies that war among themselves and with their neighbors. Permanent war. In all the lifetime of the galaxy there's only been two exceptions: the Lasa and the Chicxulub. The Lasa opted out of FTL travel completely; they discovered an environment that encouraged cooperation rather than competition: the halo worlds. No halo world can stand on its own. They need one another, and war between them isn't possible because of the barrier of light-speed."
"You're crazy," said Barendts. "Put down the laser. Can't you see what's happening here?"
"More clearly than ever. The Chicxulub are the only other solution, Barendts. The only other solution is to keep yourself pure, and wipe out every competitor. That's what the R.E.'s all about, isn't it? It was created to force humanity to stay together.
"The lit worlds are lost no matter who wins, can't you see? Whether you and I bring this seed back or not, the R.E. either wins, and goes the way of the Chicxulub, or it loses, and we end up with every world for itself. A thousand wars where before there was only one."
"You want the R.E. to win!" accused Barendts.
Michael shook his head. "Actually, I want the Lasa to win. Now you'd better find something to hold onto out there, because I'm shutting this hatch and then we're going after the rest of our people."
From inside the hatch it was easy to pull the cycler mother seed inside. Michael could see Barendts waiting just outside, but he had no weapon. He continued to rail impotently at Michael until the hatch was shut.
"DON'T MIND THE cold, guys," said Rue. It was only about — 5 °Celcius in here so far, which brought back memories of her escape from Allemagne. "Just breathe through your noses." At least everybody had their suits on; it was just the scientists who were missing their helmets that were having trouble. So far everyone had been calm, sitting along the walls silently while the techs worked.
The lights of the hab flickered. Now this they didn't need. "What's going on?" She moved to where two technicians were trying to rig up a transmitter.
"Looks like the emergency supply was just a superconducting loop. It's bleeding out pretty fast, ma'am. I'd say we've got about ten minutes of power left."
When the power went the cold would really start. Those without helmets would develop severe frostbite around the face and ears, then their lungs would start to burn.
She would have to fix things before then. "Okay, how about reserve oxygen?" The techs pointed to a set of panels under the floor. Rue opened one and examined the tanks there.
"Listen up, people! We're going to do something hazardous. I'm going to fetch one of our interceptors." If Mike Bequith hasn't stolen both, she thought bitterly. "I'm going to have to cut a hole in the wall and exit through it. There'll be a huge pressure drop, but it'll be temporary. Once the patches are on, you'll be able to breathe again. Is everybody clear on that?"
Several of the exposed faces went white, but no one protested.
"Better for two of us to go," said Harp. "I'll come."
"All right." Rue pointed a laser at a section of wall well away from the vulnerable scientists. "Rapid, deep breaths, people. Get ready to plug your noses." She aimed.
Clunk. Something big had struck the hab a glancing blow; Rue found herself and Harp tumbling like dice in a cup. Moments later the hab stabilized, but not its inhabitants: Everyone was shouting at once.
"Wait, wait! Shut up everybody!" They gradually quieted. Then Rue heard it: a tapping on the door. She flew over to it and looked through its tiny window.
Michael Bequith grinned back at her. He was holding a large and cumbersome inflatable airlock, trying to attach it to the door. After a minute he gave her the thumbs up, then she heard hissing.