There was a long pause as Father considered. "Two conditions," he said. "Show me you can fly this thing. And I'm coming with you."
*
The quickships were docked in a holding bay at the rear of the ship. Victor and Toron brought one outside, and Victor climbed into the space that would serve as a cockpit. He wired his handheld into the ship's computer and located the Lunar Guidance program. Since the quickship was automated, there were no flight controls for Victor to steer with. Instead, he devised a way to enter flight commands directly into the program by typing them into his handheld. It would be a slow and precarious way to maneuver the ship since only one command could be entered at a time and it didn't allow for quick reactions--he wouldn't be able to jink or dive or spin like he did when flying with a propulsion pack. It would be more like flying a freighter: slow to turn and decelerate.
Even still, Victor was fairly confident he could fly it with at least enough accuracy to reach the larger pieces of wreckage. With more time, he would have installed shields against solar radiation as well as seats with safety harnesses. But there was no time, and as soon as he had strapped himself to the structure, he detached his lifeline and replaced it with an air regulator and oxygen canister. Getting power to his suit was trickier. Victor taped one of the smaller batteries to his belt and hardwired the power inputs directly into the suit. The lights on his HUD were noticeably dimmer, but he had enough heat to get by with, and the radio worked. When Toron saw that Victor was set, he flew back to the airlock with Victor's detached lifeline and watched with the others.
It was then that Victor realized how alone he was. He was completely untethered from El Cavador. It was only moments ago that he had severed his own lifeline to rescue the survivors, but that hadn't been a risk really. Toron had been right there beside him--a link and anchor to El Cavador had been only an arm's length away. Now, for the first time in his life, El Cavador was beyond his immediate reach.
He began typing in the command to fly forward when it occurred to him that the LUG program was based on the quickship having a full load of mined metal, meaning a lot more mass. Victor stopped himself. Had he entered the command, he realized, he might had rocketed himself into oblivion. Brilliant, Victor. He shook his head, annoyed with himself for being so careless, then adjusted the program and typed in the first command. The propulsion pushed him forward gently, much to his relief. He flew away from the ship and did a wide loop that brought him eventually back to the airlock in what he hoped was a display of some piloting proficiency.
Father, Bahzim, and Toron flew out to the quickship, carrying larger batteries and rescue equipment. It meant they had agreed to try it. Father plugged an audio cable from his helmet to Victor's, while Bahzim anchored the equipment in the cargo hold. Victor then hardwired portable power supplies into Father's and Toron's suits, and soon everyone was settled.
"That wasn't the best flying I've seen, Vico," said Bahzim, "but it should be good enough for our purposes." He put a hand on the spare air canisters. "You've got about eight hours of air, but I want you back here in three. The less time you spend out there the better. The wreckage is unstable and drifting. This ship is small. It can't withstand a collision. Give yourself a wide berth wherever you go. As for communication, Concepcion still has us on radio silence in case the pod can detect radio. Use the helmet-to-helmet audio cables to speak to each other, but keep your radios on just in case. Above all, be safe. Don't take risks. If all of you don't agree that something is safe, don't do it. Even to save another survivor. Your first priority is your own safety. Get back here alive."
Bahzim did a quick final inspection of all cables, canisters, and equipment, then he wished them well and flew back to the airlock.
Toron looked at Victor and Father. "Thank you," he said. "For doing this, for coming with me."
"We may not find anyone," said Father.
"We will have tried," said Toron. "I couldn't live with myself if I didn't at least do that."
"Take us out, Vico," said Father. "Nice and slow."
Victor entered the command, and the ship pulled away, heading in the direction El Cavador was pointed. After patrolling for a while, Toron spotted a large piece of wreckage a few kilometers below and ahead of them. Victor saw it and entered what he hoped would be the right commands to maneuver the quickship alongside the wreckage. He had to judge the distance and angle of approach by sight alone, however, and his first attempt was way off, far beyond the reach of their safety cables. He apologized, circled wide, and tried a second approach. This time he fired retros too late and overshot.
"I thought you said you could fly this," said Toron.
"He's doing the best he can," said Father. "No one's done this before."
Victor entered another series of commands and this time judged it right, coming alongside the wreck within ten meters of an accessible hatch.
"Toron and I will check it out," Father said to Victor. "You stay put and watch for collisions. Don't let anything hit the quickship, or we're all in trouble." Father detached the audio cable that connected him to Victor then flew down to the wreck, carrying a load of gear. Toron followed, and once they landed, they spread the bubble over the hatch, detached their safety cables, climbed under the bubble with the gear, then pulled the ripcord. The bubble inflated and sealed, and the hatch opened easily. Father and Toron then flew inside and disappeared from view.
Five minutes passed. Then ten. At fifteen minutes, Victor began to worry. At twenty-five, he was near panicked. Something had gone wrong. They shouldn't be taking this long.
Victor considered calling Father on the radio, even though he'd be disobeying orders and possibly putting the family at risk, but then he thought better of it. Father had asked him to wait, and so he would. Wait an
d pray.
*
Edimar was in the crow's nest on El Cavador, trying not to burst into tears. The data streaming through her display goggles from the Eye was so constant and in such volume that Edimar was beyond overwhelmed. Column after column of nonstop digits, all demanding to be analyzed immediately and marked EXTREMELY URGENT.
The problem was the debris. There were thousands of pieces of wreckage all around the ship, and since all of them were drifting through space and relatively close, the Eye had mistakenly labeled each piece of debris, however small, as a possible collision threat. And once an object was so tagged, the Eye's programming insisted that the Eye track its movements. This meant the Eye was now tracking thousands of objects at once and sending all of that data in a deluge of information directly to Edimar's goggles.
It was too much. And worse still, it was inaccurate. Of the thousands of objects the Eye currently considered a threat, only a handful were truly dangerous. It meant the real threats, the objects that Edimar should be tracking, were being lost in a sea of unnecessary alerts.
She blinked open a line to Concepcion at the bridge. "I can't do it," said Edimar. "I need help."
"What's wrong?" said Concepcion.
"It's too much. I can't process all the data the Eye is sending me. You've got to get my father back up here. I can't chew through the information as fast as he can. I'm too slow."
"You're father left on a quickship to look for more survivors," said Concepcion.
"Quickship? I didn't think we could fly those."