Seveneves: A Novel (57 page)

She looked Julia in the eye, and became aware that the former president was awaiting some form of reaction from her. Unlike most people, Tekla felt no pressure, no obligation to fulfill any such expectations. Julia, a bit unnerved by that, broke eye contact and continued: “I don’t quite understand the story they are telling us anyway!”

“It is pretty convoluted,” said one of her aides, a young male Arkie with an American accent. He was one of the MIV engineers. His tone suggested that he was amused by the sheer cheekiness of the powers that be in trying to get people to believe such a yarn, and that he was much too clever to be taken in. “It kind of hinges on the idea that the hull was made out of what amounts to plastic. If it gets too hot, it—”

“It’s like plastic on a stove burner, I understand that,” Julia said. “It melts and it stinks.”

“
New Caird
shifted in a way that caused the hull to come into contact with a nozzle that was extremely hot.”

“But according to the story they are putting out, Vyacheslav had shut that nozzle off beforehand.”

“They stay hot for a long time. Anyway, the nozzle melted right through the hull. First it would have made a lot of toxic smoke. That would have been enough to kill him. Then, when the melting proceeded to the point where the hull was perforated, all the air would have escaped through the hole.”

“Well, that is horrible—if it is true,” Julia said, and then swiveled her eyes toward Tekla, looking for some sign in the visitor’s face that it might
not
be true. Tekla stared back at her in a manner that betrayed nothing. “What sort of pass have we come to, one wonders, when such crazy improvisations are called for—ramming one ship with another!”

More murmurs of agreement.

Julia was on a roll. “And as far as I can make out, it didn’t even solve the problem!”

“Problem is solved,” Tekla said. She was fluent in English and was perfectly capable of saying “
The
problem is solved,” but sometimes dropped the article for effect. Anglophones found this mysterious and impressive. It was also an implicit statement of Russian pride. The language of the Cloud Ark, by default, was English. That was never going to change. But the dialect was going to evolve over time, and Russians could bend it in their direction by finding ways to inject their grammar and vocabulary into everyday speech. “Burn is complete,” she went on.

“But the ship is still tumbling out of control!” said the American boy who so fancied his own intelligence.

“Slow tumble,” Tekla said. “Not problem. Plenty of time to fix now that perigee is raised.”

“Fix it how?! Markus demolished three of the external thruster packages by
ramming them
! Who does that? Anyway, there are only two of them left. It is a basic reality of physics that you can’t control a three-axis tumble using only two thrusters!”

“Thank you for explaining basic reality,” Tekla said. “Tumble can be eliminated by making scarfed nozzle.”

This silenced them for a few moments. One of Julia’s followers—Jianyu, a Chinese Arkie, very passionate about going to Mars—looked like he understood it. Tekla nodded in his direction. “This man will explain later. My time here is limited.”

“Yes, Tekla, and we do appreciate that you’ve been able to make time for us at all,” Julia said.

Tekla wanted to slap her so much that her hand actually twitched. The sentence Julia had just spoken, had it been delivered in a different tone, might have actually meant what it said. Instead of which, it meant
I am being callously ignored and it’s about time someone important came out to talk to me
. Tekla had an almost physical sense of how that mentality was radiating outward from Julia to infect the other Arkies.

Like almost everyone else in the Cloud Ark, Tekla was wearing a coverall with many pockets, compartments, external holsters, and the like. One of them contained a knife with a four-inch, double-edged blade. Its tip could find J.B.F.’s heart easily. Tekla faded from the conversation briefly as she considered how to manage this. Julia probably wouldn’t be expecting a frank assassination attempt—though you never really knew, with people who had such minds.

Tekla said, “Would you like to report any difficulties with the SAN? Repeated outages have been observed.”

Julia pressed her lips together in a satisfied way and looked toward Spencer Grindstaff.

“First I’ve heard of it,” Spencer said. The statement was met with perfect, deadpan silence.

Tekla just waited. Soon the temptation to boast would get the better of them. Her training in tradecraft—in how to be a spy—had not been all that extensive. A few basic courses, some assigned reading. The reason was simple: She was too conspicuous to be useful as a spy. Too similar to the Hollywood profile. Real spies went unnoticed. So they had kicked her out of the program and put her to work in roles, such as being an Olympic athlete, where her conspicuousness was an asset. But she had picked up a few general precepts. And she knew that this one thing—the urge to boast of one’s accomplishments—had betrayed more secrets and destroyed more careers than anything else.

She looked at Grindstaff. Unlike most people, who soon broke eye contact, he looked right back at her, grinning.

“Unusual,” Tekla said, “for one of your background.”

“Sources and methods,” he said.

“Then I will confine my remarks to what I came here for,” Tekla said. This produced an immediate exchange of glances between Julia and Spencer. Tekla ignored it. “For security reasons it is imperative that we have accurate census of which person is in which arklet. Some people like to move around. To trade places. We understand.
Fine. But safety and security problems are created when, for example, arklet is struck by bolide, air is leaking, we do not know how many people are in it, their medical requirements, et cetera. Small person needs less air than big person.”

Julia was nodding. “I take your point very clearly, Tekla. Speaking for the Arkie Community, I can confirm that a more informal mind-set prevails out here on the outskirts. The perception of neglect by the powers that be on Izzy leads to a bit of a chip-on-the-shoulder attitude. Reshuffling of people between arklets seems like a harmless form of rebellion. But it’s easy to overlook the safety issue that you are pointing out. Which is a mistake. I will say that the confusion as to the
real
threat level we are under, as long as we—”

“As long as we confine ourselves to dirty space,” Ravi Kumar threw in.

“Yes, thank you, Ravi. It just seems that one day we hear one thing, the next day we hear another.”

“Statistics,” Tekla said.

“Yes, that is what we are told again and again, but—”

“I can say no more,” Tekla offered, and flicked her eyes at one of the small cameras mounted to the hull of the arklet.

Julia held her gaze this time, and, after a few moments, threw a glance Spencer’s way. “Tekla, a minute ago we were dancing around the topic of the Situational Awareness Network and Spencer was being a bit lighthearted—his sense of humor at work. But I feel comfortable telling you that, thanks to Spencer, we do have a way to disconnect from the SAN when we want to just have a normal conversation without wondering who might be listening in. And we have done so now. Anything you say here and now will not leave this arklet.”

Tekla favored the circle of hangers-on and admirers with a long, slow panoramic look, then actually rolled her eyes.

“Everyone out!” Julia commanded. “You too, Spencer. Just Tekla and me.”

“Your tradecraft is of low quality,” Tekla said, when all the others
had dispersed through the hamster tubes to the other arklets in Julia’s heptad.

“I know,” Julia said. “It is so difficult rebuilding an intelligence community from scratch. One must make do with the materials at hand. Their youth, their inexperience, and the openness they’ve come to expect from living their whole lives on the Internet—all are inimical to doing things as they ought to be done. That is why we need more experienced hands—people who have learned the right instincts.”

“It is not just that,” Tekla said. “That is obvious.”

“Oh?” Julia narrowed her eyes. “What have I missed that is not so obvious?”

“You should not trust Zeke Petersen with further information,” Tekla said. “Unless you wish to plant false intelligence, in which case he will be an effective channel.”

Ivy and Zeke and Tekla had discussed it beforehand, and Zeke had cheerfully volunteered to be given up by Tekla as a supposed turncoat. It made little difference to him personally. And it would go a long way to cementing the idea, in Julia’s mind, of Tekla as a master double agent. By Cold War standards it was an obvious and amateurish gambit, but this was not the Cold War. This was a small town of fifteen hundred people with a former mayor who was trying to stir up trouble.

Julia narrowed her eyes and nodded slowly. She was fascinated. “I had wondered about him,” she said. “He seemed like he was just playing along. Just being polite.”

“Not a problem with Tekla,” Tekla said.

Julia liked that. She had drifted closer, and now reached out to touch Tekla’s forearm briefly. “I like that about you, Tekla. What I see is what I get.”

“Yes.” Then, after a somewhat uneasy silence, Tekla added, “You play long game. Patient.”

“To a degree,” Julia said, and suddenly her face and attitude had changed, as if her face had been recast in painted steel. “We cannot
afford to be patient for very long. Markus’s death has changed everything. Until that tragic event, the members of the Arkie Community could look forward to the return of the great leader. Ivy was a mere caretaker. Her shortcomings could be overlooked. Now, awareness is spreading through the swarm that Markus is not coming back. Ivy is back in power. Sal will quote from obscure clauses in the Constitution to legitimize her status. But true legitimacy comes from the support of the governed. She’ll be moving now to solidify her hold on the reins. It’s at such a time that small, symbolic gestures can have the greatest effect. And that, Tekla, is why the next few days are such a critical time for us. Perhaps
Ymir
will pull through, perhaps not. We can’t afford to wait. Preparations are afoot. Three days from now, arklets will begin to break free of the Cloud Ark and begin their epic trek to high orbit. The powers that be might fear to implement the Pure Swarm strategy, for the loss of control it will mean for them. But the Arkie Community, tired of huddling behind an ineffective shield, slowly being decimated by the Hard Rain, knows no such limitations.”

“Survival of the breakaway group will demonstrate the falsity of the GPop’s predictions of danger,” Tekla said, nodding. “The power of the center will be broken.”

“For the first time, the Cloud Ark Constitution will truly come into effect,” Julia said, “notwithstanding the sophistry of the apologist Sal Guodian. That Constitution, Tekla, as I’m sure you know, calls for the formation of a security force. Not the Praetorian Guard that Markus cobbled together, but something real. I can think of no one better qualified than you to command it.”

“HOOK, LINE, AND SINKER,” SAID SPENCER GRINDSTAFF AS HE AND
Julia watched Tekla’s Flivver depart with a staccato series of thruster burns.

“Oh, she definitely bought it,” Julia admitted, “but I don’t like
the note of triumphalism in your voice, Spencer. What we have really learned is that Ivy is a formidable opponent. Somehow she has managed to get people like Tekla on her side. And they have come up with a fairly elaborate strategy for penetrating our organization.”

Grindstaff shrugged. “As these things go, it’s not that elaborate. Kind of obvious, really.”

“Easy to say,” Julia said, “given that you have a bug hidden in the Banana, and we knew everything they were going to do. But lacking that information, Spencer, do you really think we’d have seen through it? I thought Tekla did a marvelous job.”

“You need to look out for her. She really hates you. And she’s carrying at least one weapon.”

“Thanks to Pete Starling,” Julia said, “so am I.” She reached into her bag and drew out a small revolver, just far enough that Spencer could see the butt of its grip, then slid it back in.

“At the risk of insulting your intelligence,” Spencer said, “I would like to remind you of the consequences of firing that thing inside of a space vehicle.”

“No offense taken. I’ve actually seen those consequences. And you know what? The air doesn’t leak out that fast. Anyway, I’m told that the rounds in this weapon are designed to mushroom on impact, so they are less likely to exit the body.”

“That’s great,” Spencer said, “provided you actually hit a body.”

“If it comes down to me and Tekla,” Julia said, “I’m not going to miss.”

ALL DINAH WANTED TO DO WAS SLEEP. SINCE
NEW CAIRD
HAD DEPARTED
from Izzy she had never gotten more than four consecutive hours, and the numbers for the last day or so were even more dismal. In a weird way, she wanted to sleep so that she would be able to grieve properly. She knew Markus was dead, but it hadn’t really sunk in.
Nor would it, as long as she was running from one crisis to the next.

The burn had worked.
Ymir
’s perigee altitude had been raised to the point where it would never again be troubled by the atmosphere. But the ship was still tumbling, albeit slowly. And Vyacheslav was still trudging around on its outer surface with his feet zip-tied to Grabbs.

At the start of this extravehicular activity, Slava had exited through the airlock on the side of
New Caird
—a ship that was no longer with them. His supplies were running low. He had to get inside the command module before he ran out of air. This could be achieved using an airlock built in for that purpose. It was located adjacent to the docking port in the “nose” of the ice-buried command module. Passing through it, he would enter the uppermost level of the module, where he could breathe the same air as everyone else. But he had taken the precaution of checking himself out with an Eenspektor, and found powerful radiation coming from several locations on his suit—basically, wherever he had come into contact with the surface of the shard.