Rift (20 page)

“We will be sending the second shuttle to pick up the survivors and continue that critical mission.”

Mitya hadn’t even known there
was
a shuttle on a mission. What business did they have in the Titan Mountains, hundreds of miles away? He heard someone sobbing quietly.

The Captain went on, “This is a hard loss to bear, so close upon the losses we’ve already endured. Gudrun and Koichi have lost their spouses, and for them I ask the healing ministrations of the Lord of All Worlds.” Lieutenant Roarke put his arm around Gudrun, and everyone stood a moment in respectful silence.

The Captain nodded solemnly at Koichi and Gudrun before continuing: “Our desperate situation does
not allow us proper time to grieve as we would wish, however. Crew will continue to work this day, and with redoubled efforts, knowing that our lost comrades would want us to succeed, especially given their sacrifice.”

“How did the crash happen?” someone asked from the front row.

“We don’t know. If you’re thinking orthong attack, that’s a distinct possibility. As is a mechanical or pilot malfunction.”

A voice from the back: “The ship wasn’t in working condition—you knew that!” Someone else growled agreement.

The Captain raised his chin. “What was that?”

Mitya saw Yoo Lee step forward, saying: “The shuttle needed an overhaul. No one took time to do it.”

“That’s not true,” the Captain said. “That shuttle was ready to fly”—he was interrupted by angry protests, but he continued—“and in reasonable working order, given the demands of our schedule.”

“Schedule!” A crew member shouted. “Your schedule’s killing us!”

A few muttered encouragement while the Captain scanned his audience with a cool stare. When silence resumed, he spoke softly, forcing Mitya to strain to hear him. “This is not
my schedule
, ladies and gentlemen. A ship is arriving, as you all know. When it does, their captain will expect his demands met. That shuttle was needed to retrieve the material the ship needs. The
ship
needs.” His voice rose in volume. “If any of you have second thoughts about meeting the
ship’s
schedule, you are free to leave. I need no slackers to sabotage our chance for rescue.”

Theo, standing next to Mitya, muttered, “Only one who’s talked to the ship is you, you bastard.”

Mitya was hopelessly confused. What ship? What rescue?

“Nobody’s slacking,” Yoo Lee said, shouldering forward.
“But you send a shuttle out with system glitches, and you’re the one jeopardizing the goddamned schedule!”

At this, Lieutenant Hess snapped back, “Those system glitches were—”

But the Captain put out a hand to interrupt him. His voice took on a tone of conciliation. “Those system problems were in noncritical systems. Heating system irregularities. They had nothing to do with the crash. I know it feels better to have someone to blame. If it helps, I freely take responsibility. If I had a full complement of crew and we weren’t in extreme emergency, you’re right, that shuttle wouldn’t have flown. I’ve done my best to juggle our priorities, and if I’ve failed to control everything, you can rightly blame me.”

Mitya turned to Theo and whispered, “What ship is he talking about?”

Theo looked startled to see Mitya, though they’d been sitting side by side since the beginning of the meeting. He frowned, then said, “Ask the Captain.”

“Is there a ship from Earth?” Mitya asked, jumping to the only conclusion he could.

“Not exactly,” Theo said, turning away.

Mitya looked around for Stepan. Meanwhile the argument continued. “… chain of command,” the Captain was saying, “the same as on Station. We are operating under RCS 12.181, ‘Reconnaissance Party,’ in which the party leader—in this case myself—has somewhat more authority than under ordinary circumstances. I do share decisions with senior officers, as Lieutenants Hess, Cody, and Roarke will attest.” After a pause he continued, “We will soon inevitably be under new leadership. We will all take our places in a different organization than we have known before. I look forward to that day, I assure you. But until that time, I ask for your continued support, no matter what tests the Lord may put before us.”

With that, he departed back into his quarters, pausing
a moment to speak with Koichi and Gudrun and offering a passing comment to Lieutenant Cody.

Cody made her way toward Mitya then as the rest of the crew dispersed, some of them resuming work and others talking in knots and embracing each other for comfort.

She looked down at Mitya. Cody was a tall, angular woman, with a sympathetic demeanor, which emboldened Mitya to blurt out, “What’s going on, Lieutenant? What ship are they talking about?”

Cody looked at him, crumpling her lips in thought. “There is a ship coming, Mitya. It diverted its journey to come by for us.”

“Why didn’t we hear about it?”

“You
are
hearing about it.”

“No, but why not on-Station? Did everyone know except me? I don’t think my father knew, I don’t—”

Cody interrupted. “I’m sure you must have questions. We’ll get to them later. Can you just hold your questions for a while?”

Her tone was patronizing. He wasn’t a child. Of course he could wait. “But …,” he said.

Cody smiled at him, raising an eyebrow.

“But does this mean we aren’t going to stay? To terraform?” He was just exploding with questions.

Cody put more starch in her voice. “You hold that question, Mitya. For later.” Someone else was waiting to talk to her and Mitya was left alone with the others, who avoided his eyes and made a wide berth around him.

They knew. They all knew about a ship, except for him. He saw Oran standing in a group of techs, their voices subdued. Even Oran knew. Mitya’s cheeks burned with embarrassment and anger. Keeping a lookout for Uncle Stepan, he slunk over to his refuge near the east strut of the dome and watched as several crew, led by Lieutenant Tsamchoe, put gear together for the rescue party. When he saw that Stepan was
among them, he jumped up and strode over to his uncle, waiting near the group until he caught Stepan’s eye.

His uncle’s face was closed and he gave no sign of seeing Mitya, but Mitya waited there, a silent demand he hoped Stepan would answer. Finally his uncle shouldered a pack over his heavy jacket and approached him.

“A piece of advice,” Stepan said, as several others in the rescue party looked at them with interest. “Be careful about jumping to conclusions. Especially be careful about voicing those opinions. Crew is watching you to see if you’re one of us or not. I’ve fought for you, Mitya. Don’t disappoint me.”

“Lieutenant,” Mitya said. “Aren’t we here to terraform, then?”

Stepan sighed. “Ask Oran if you can’t wait until I get back.” He leaned in with a fierce scowl on his face. “But you keep your opinions to yourself. No one is going to listen to a thirteen-year-old. No one cares what your opinions are. You’re either with us or against us. You understand me?” He fixed Mitya with an impaling gaze.

Mitya’s outrage faltered under his uncle’s glare.

“That little trip to the valley? That was my doing, boy. Bonhert owes our family some respect, and you deserve a chance to prove yourself. But some of the crew don’t like you, and if you screw up, if you act mad or doubtful, your life isn’t worth a damn.” Stepan adjusted his pack straps and took a deep breath. “Wipe that stricken look off your face. Keep your face a blank if you can’t do any better.”

As Mitya obeyed, Stepan relented a notch, saying: “When I get back, I’ll answer any questions you still have. Privately. Meanwhile, you figure out how much your opinions are worth. If you still have opinions after you hear our plans, well, you just take a long walk in the fog, boy. If you’re here when I get back, I’ll know
you’ve made up your mind.” He put a firm hand on Mitya’s shoulder, and without another word he rejoined the mission crew assembling in front of the air lock.

Mitya struggled to keep his face
blank
, as Stepan said. But his emotions were boiling, and he’d never been much good at hiding what he felt. Some of the mission crew were looking up at him from their checklists. He smoothed out his face the best he could, nodding at them.
Your life isn’t worth a damn. You act mad, your life isn’t worth a damn
. He wandered over to his spot at the dome edge. Sitting down, he practiced a blank face.
You still got opinions, just take a long walk in the fog, boy
. How could he have opinions when he didn’t even know what was happening? All he knew was that there was a ship.
Not exactly from Earth
. Maybe from some colony planet. But if there was a colony planet, why would they be coming to Lithia?

Someone walking by glanced over at him, sizing him up. He wondered if it looked sulky, sitting here all by himself. He went over to the galley, thinking to find useful work, but to his surprise Koichi was there, practicing his fighting moves. He was batting at thin air, swirling to meet another attack from behind, oblivious to Mitya—dancing through a fight routine after hearing that his wife was killed. From the look of Koichi’s face, he was far, far away.

Mitya left him, heading over to the water filtration meter in the shadows next to the looming wall of the clean room, where he pretended to check the gauges. Then, suddenly overcome with fatigue, he crawled behind the electric generator and rolled into a ball, covering his face with his arms.

It was dark when he crawled out, having slept the afternoon away. He strolled into the main dome, where pockets of crew were still on task under the harsh
lights hanging from the main dome struts. Lieutenant Hess turned when one of the crew nudged him, pointing at Mitya.

Hess set out in his direction while Mitya considered an alibi for where he’d been:
Not moping, sir, just don’t feel well
.… But before he’d thought through an answer, Hess was saying, “Captain wants to see you.”

“The Captain?”

“Yes, the Captain.” He nodded at the Captain’s quarters, and Mitya mumbled his
yes, sir
and walked slowly in that direction, wondering if he was in trouble. And, if he was, why the Captain was dealing with it.

Captain Bonhert was seated at a small desk cluttered with touchboards and slates. Two data fields shared a large, curved screen forming a half circle around his desk. Mitya was surprised to see that the Captain had the luxury of a padded swivel chair. The rest of the room contained a cot and a makeshift sink with a stack of towels. Towels. Mitya always knew the brass lived better than others, but this was luxury indeed, compared with crew sleeping on mats in the dome and sharing a communal head with cycled pulp sheets for drying hands.

The Captain swung around and nodded at Mitya.

“Sir,” Mitya thought to say when the Captain didn’t speak.

The Captain gestured to the bunk, and Mitya perched on the edge of it, his stomach in a slow churn. Whatever else happened, he wasn’t going to think about his parents, and what his parents would have thought of all of this. What his dad would have done, to learn that a ship was coming and nobody knew.

Captain Bonhert rubbed his eyes and drew his hand down the stubble of his beard. The man was tired. No doubt the Captain hadn’t slept the afternoon away, but had been in the thick of it for many hours now. His large shoulders slumped a little from his usual military
posture, and his graying sideburns gave him a look of wisdom and fatherly patience. Mitya hoped he was wise. He’d always believed the Captain was wise.…

“Mitya, thank you for coming. I wanted to speak to you earlier, but as you see, we’ve had pressing business.”

Mitya swallowed, his throat so sticky it almost closed shut. “Yes, sir,” he squeaked.

“Sometimes we can’t do the things we want to. Sometimes we have to choose the lesser of two evils.” He seemed distracted, almost as though he was speaking to himself. But his attention snapped back to Mitya, and Mitya sensed he was to respond.

“Yes, sir,” he said.

“Now, Mitya, I’m going to share with you a dilemma. Do you know what a dilemma is?”

He thought he did. “It’s when you have to choose, but you don’t want to.”

The Captain raised his eyebrow and cocked his head slightly. “Exactly so. You have to choose and you don’t want to. You’re a bright lad. Stepan’s told me that you have ability, and I see what he means.” He rose, looking down on Mitya as though taking a new measure of him. Then, from a standing position, he coded a sequence into the touchboard. A view of the planet in cross-section filled the screen, layered into the familiar pattern of core, upper and lower mantle, and crust.

“Come here, Mitya.” He gestured Mitya into the upholstered chair and touched the board again, bringing the schematic to life. Complex mantle convection currents flowed, and a moon-sized molten core spun slightly faster than its housing. From the patterns, Mitya could tell the representation was color-coded for heat. In one spot, dark blue subducting crustal plates created a cool sink that fell mantleward and collected at the boundary between upper and lower mantle, then crashed through the boundary like an avalanche.

“Where are we in this grand scheme of the planet’s makeup?” the Captain asked.

Mitya pointed to the fine line of dark blue crust. “We’re here, sir.”

The Captain leaned in and punched in another code. With the core-mantle boundary at the bottom of the screen, a needle-slim tube could be seen, beginning at the boundary and threading its way to the surface: the hot-spot plume under the valley, under their very camp. In this close-up view, some surface features of the crust appeared, such as the ridged profile of the Titan Mountains, and there, a shallow notch representing the Rift Valley.

Bonhert pointed to the tip of the plume. “This is what’s feeding the vents in that valley out there, Mitya. And the planet’s got more plumes like this one.” His face darkened. “The whole churning sphere is feeding volcanism. That’s what we’re up against. The whole damn machine.”

Mitya was looking up at the Captain, knowing what was coming. He tried to stiffen his face.

“The nanotech geoform project, Mitya … It was deeply flawed. It could never succeed.”