I need a fail-safe, he realized. If I have to decelerate and accelerate, I can't risk passing out and losing control again. He thought of the biometric sensors all over his body monitoring his vitals and wondered why he had never thought to connect them to the ship's operations. That had been a foolish oversight. He quickly whipped up a simple program on his handheld that would tell the ship to decelerate if his heart rate or blood pressure dropped below certain levels. He next devised a program to ask him questions periodically, to identify a number perhaps or to retype a word. If he couldn't, if he had lost his mental faculties for whatever reason, the ship would decelerate until he came to himself.
But what if I don't come to myself? he thought. What if I'm dead? If I die then the ship will decelerate and stay out here and never reach Luna. That wouldn't do. It would be better if he reached Luna as a corpse with the data cube than never reach Luna at all. He altered the program so that if his heart monitor flatlined for at least twenty-four hours, the rockets would accelerate to maximum and get his corpse and, more importantly, the data cube to Luna as quickly as possible.
Over the next few weeks, he occasionally accelerated and decelerated simply to train his body to withstand the forces, increasing the speed of acceleration and deceleration a little more each time. He blacked out often, but the ship responded well and decelerated whenever it happened, allowing him to come to himself quickly. Eventually he could stay conscious for two hours of fast acceleration. Then three hours. Then four.
In other areas, he wasn't doing as well. Eating had become a chore. Victor had assumed that he would eventually come to accept the vitamin mush over time, that eating it would become tolerable simply out of habit. But it didn't. If anything, the mush became more unappetizing with every meal, and he had to force himself to eat it while suppressing his gag reflex.
One of Father's ideas turned out to be a lifesaver. He had suggested that Victor bring along a hatch bubble to inflate periodically on a flat surface inside the quickship. With Victor inside and with the bubble filled with air, Victor could get out of his suit briefly and clean the suit tubes and brush his teeth and sponge his skin and do everything else he needed to keep himself sanitary.
The biggest challenge of the trip, even more taxing than the physical stress or the food or the cramped confines of the ship, was the sheer boredom of it all. He had assumed that loading his handheld with books and recordings and games and puzzles would be enough to stimulate his mind for seven months, but here he was wrong as well. His eyes strained from looking at the screen after a few days, and soon even listening became tedious. As he approached the month mark, his mind continually returned to the message Mother had left him. He considered opening it early--what difference would it make, after all?--but he always decided against it. He had made a promise.
He was so eager for something different, so desperate for a break in the monotony, that he found it hard to sleep the night before the message was to be opened. Eventually he slipped into slumber, and when he awoke, he clicked on the icon. Father had installed a holopad attachment to his handheld, and Mother's head appeared in the holospace. He lifted it and turned it toward him so that it was as if she were looking directly at him. Even before she spoke, Victor felt more alone and more isolated than he had ever felt in his life. He had six months more to go and already he hated this existence.
"You're a month out, Vico," Mother said. "And by now you're probably ready for this trip to be over. Hang in there, Viquito. Whenever you feel lonely watch this message. Know that your father and I are thinking about you and praying for your safe arrival. We're proud of you, and we know you'll be fine."
Mother paused to gather herself. Her voice had begun to break. She swallowed and sounded like herself again.
"But that's not why we've made this message. You're my son, Vico. My only child, the light of my life, so know that what I am about to say I say because I love you and want the best for you. Don't come back. Don't return to El Cavador. Under your seat, you'll find a disc with access codes to an account your father and I have set up for you. It's not much, but it's all we have. Concepcion has donated all her savings as well. Use that money to enroll in a university on Earth after you give warning. Your mind is too valuable to waste in the Belt, Vico. You can do great things, but not here, not with us." Mother was crying now. "I'll always love you. Make us proud."
The message ended. Mother disappeared. They were releasing him. They were giving him a way to move on. He had wondered what he would do and where he would go after he had given the warning, and now he had his answer. The feeling of loneliness left him. He felt renewed, determined. He could endure six more months. For Mother and Father and Earth, he could endure it.
CHAPTER 16
Weigh Station Four
Lem was on the helm at the window when Weigh Station Four finally came into view. At first it was just a distant dot in space, indistinguishable from the countless stars behind it. But the navigator assured Lem that it was in fact the outpost, and Lem made the announcement to the crew. They answered him with whistles and applause, and a few of the crewmen nearest him gave him a congratulatory slap on the back, as if Lem had built the thing himself.
Lem didn't mind all the positive attention. He had told the crew months ago that they would be stopping here for supplies and a bit of shore leave before pushing on to Luna, and ever since then the crew had treated him warmly, smiling when they saw him, nodding as he passed. Suddenly he wasn't the boss's son. He was one of them.
Granted, supplies and shore leave weren't Lem's true motivation for the visit, and he felt a slight stab of guilt at all the celebration. The real reason for coming was to drop off Podolski so he could wipe El Cavador's computers. But since everyone did in fact deserve a little break, no harm no foul.
"Chubs, turn our scopes on Weigh Station Four and bring it up here in the holospace," said Lem. "I want to see what amenities await us."
In the Asteroid Belt, weigh stations were enormous enterprises, with all manner of entertainment for miners desperate to escape the monotony of their ships. Casinos, restaurants, movie houses. One near Jupiter even had a small sports arena for zero-G wrestling matches and other theatrics. So when the image of Weigh Station Four appeared large in the holospace for everyone on the helm to see, Lem knew at once that it was nothing like what everyone was hoping for.
The applause died. The whistling ceased. Everyone stared.
Weigh Station Four was a cluster of old mining vessels and sections of retired space stations connected haphazardly together through a series of tubes and tunnels to form a single massive structure. It had no symmetry, no design, no central space dock. Retired ships had been added to it over the years in a seemingly random fashion, connected to the structure wherever there had been room. It was like someone had rolled up a space junkyard into a sad little ball and decorated it with a few neon lights. It wasn't a weigh station; it was a dump.
Lem could see disappointment on everyone's faces.
"Well," said Lem, clapping his hands once. "I'm not sure which is uglier, a free-miner weigh station or free-miner women."
It wasn't particularly funny, but Lem had hoped to elicit at least a polite chuckle. Instead he got silence and blank stares.
Time to change the mood.
"The good ne
ws," said Lem, smiling and trying to stay chipper, "is that your stay at this delightful oasis of the Kuiper Belt is my treat. Drinks and food and entertainment are on me. Consider it an early bonus courtesy of Juke Limited."
As he expected, this news prompted another round of applause and whistles. Lem smiled. He had been planning to spring this surprise on the crew regardless of the station's condition, and now he was particularly relieved that he had thought of it beforehand. He would sell a load of cylinders to pay for the expense, but again Podolski was the real motivation here. Lem needed cash to fund Podolski's stay on the station and subsequent flight home, and he didn't want to use any corporate account for the expenses. Giving everyone a bonus was an expensive, albeit effective, cover for getting Podolski cash.
Lem ordered the crew to dock the ship near the depository, a massive warehouselike structure nearly as large as the station itself. Here free miners who didn't use quickships dumped and sold raw minerals or cylinders to the station at below-market value. The weigh station then sent it all to Luna in quickships for a profit. Most established families and clans had their own quickship system and used the weigh station only as a source of supplies. But the newcomers and start-ups without the full array of equipment still sold their mining hauls here.
Lem and Chubs left the airlock of the ship and stepped out into the docking tunnel. The drop master was waiting for them. He was a dirty little man in a jumpsuit and a mismatched pair of greaves on his shins who carried a holopad that looked like he had beaten it against the floor a few times. The air was warm and thick with the scent of rock dust, machine oil, and human sweat.
"Name's Staggar," the man said. "I'm the drop master here. You boys are Jukies, eh? Don't see too much of your type around here. Most corporates stick to the A Belt."