Seveneves - Страница 89

“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.

“I was worried about this,” Jiro said, “but there was nothing to be done.”

“Worried about what?” Dinah asked. “I thought the surface was reasonably clean.”

“It was,” Jiro said, “until we did the perigee burn. The nozzle was pointed forward. Some of the steam was blown back over us by the wind — by the atmosphere we were passing through. It condensed and stuck to the surface of the shard. So, now there are little pieces of fallout all over the outside of Ymir. And some of them have gotten stuck to Slava’s space suit.”

“He’s got to get out of that thing.”

Jiro shrugged. “The suit will block most of the beta.”

“I mean, he’s got to get out of it before he runs out of oxygen.”

“That is true.”

“Which means he has to come in here.”

“Also true.”

“He’s going to bring that radiation inside with him.”

“It will take weeks to kill us. By that time we will have accomplished our mission. Or not.”

In the end, though, they came up with a workaround that did not involve dying, which was that they taped some plastic over the companionway that joined the command module’s top level to the one below it. Before doing so, they moved a generous supply of food and water to that level, along with toiletries, a sleep sack, and other items Vyacheslav would be needing. Slava passed through the airlock with some minutes to spare, doffed his suit, and closed it up in the chamber of the airlock, which would block most of the beta radiation coming off it. He then stripped off his clothes and went through several repetitions of decontaminating himself with premoistened towelettes, throwing all of it into the airlock chamber before slamming its hatch shut.

Then he threw up.

The upper level of the command module, along with Slava himself, now had to be treated as contaminated, but they didn’t need it anymore. Jiro and Dinah would be confined to the lower levels, separated from Vyacheslav and the possible contamination by a sheet of plastic, until they reached Izzy or died. A common air supply circulated through all the levels in ducts, but it had a filter system, which they hoped would catch any floating motes of fallout.

Having seen to all of those matters, they turned out the lights and slept. Dinah slept through her alarm, in fact, and finally woke up to realize she’d been out for twelve hours.

Her next thought was to wonder where Markus was. Then she remembered, with a kind of astonishment, that he was dead. It came as a stinging slap, followed by grief. But on the heels of the grief came a feeling of deep fear that she had rarely experienced in all the time since Zero. It was not the sharp bracing fear one felt on an adventure, such as the ride through perigee, nor the kind of intellectual, abstract fear that had been with them ever since Doob had predicted the Hard Rain. This was a kind of morbid panic that was second cousin to depression. It was how a child might feel upon learning that she had been orphaned. Not a child, rather, but an adolescent, the oldest sibling, on whom responsibility for the family now fell. Markus was gone. He wasn’t going to shoulder any more burdens for them. Others would have to take up those burdens. And some of those — the ones, perhaps, most eager to step into Markus’s place — would certainly make the wrong decisions. And so, as sad as Dinah felt about the fact that she would never see Markus again or feel his embrace, the thing that really made her want to contract into a fetal position was this knowledge that it was on her now. On her, and Ivy, and Doob, and the others who could be trusted.