Chapter 28 #2
Except there was nothing simple about it. A spacewalk? To a kill-sat? To access its manual-input interface? At least a thousand things could go wrong.
Vector incorrectly on the approach and miss the target so that you drifted off into the killing black. A glitch in the programming that caused the sat to self-destruct. A rip in the EVA suit, killing the person crazy enough to go out there in the first place.
And on and on. It was sheer insanity. Suicidal.
“And just who the hell gets to risk their life to pull this crazy-ass stunt?” Letitia asked.
“There are two logical choices,” Norvik answered. “The first is myself. As the ship’s communications officer and the person initially assigned the task of hacking into the mainframe, I have the expertise and the knowledge to perform the mission.”
“Who’s the other?” Sark inquired, his voice trembling as though he thought it might be him.
“Zed,” Norvik pronounced.
Carmen’s heart stopped. Zed? Her Mechan engineer? The crewmember who was literally holding the ship together? The one person who knew everything about Antilles and how to keep her operational?
No, she couldn’t risk him. Or Norvik for that matter. If they somehow made it to the other side and into the Forbidden Zone, she would need him as a negotiator and ambassador.
“Captain, if you order me to go, I will,” Norvik said, as though he could hear her thoughts. “But I believe Zed is the superior choice.”
“What a surprise,” Letitia said, her tone accusatory.
“Hear me out,” Norvik said before Carmen could object. “Zed does not require life support. As an inorganic lifeform, the vacuum of space has no effect on him. He will therefore not require an EVA suit, and he does not need to worry about his life-support running out or being compromised.
“Secondly, and much more importantly, Zed’s internal processors can think and adapt millions of times faster than any of our brains.
There is likely to be military-grade defense software to prevent what we wish to attempt.
Zed will be able to react at the same, if not better, speed as the countermeasures he will face. ”
Damn. She had to give Norvik credit. His Collectivist logic was sound. And he was willing to go himself if Carmen determined that was what was in the best interest of the crew as a whole.
“We can’t send Zed,” Sark said. “He’s the engineer. The ship will fall apart without him.”
“On the contrary,” Norvik said, “this vessel has an abundance of starship engineers. Captain Díaz and Mila both have the relevant skillset to take Zed’s place while he is gone.
And as the captain pointed out yesterday, Mila has demonstrated a mechanical ingenuity that has surpassed even Zed’s on multiple occasions. ”
“Wait, now Mila is good for something other than her ‘value proposition’?” Letitia said, sarcasm dripping off every word. “What happened to selling her?”
“The captain has made it clear that selling Mila is an unacceptable solution to our problems,” he answered. “It is therefore necessary to evaluate her on the basis of the other benefits she can bring to the collective.”
Carmen’s mouth fell open. She knew she shouldn’t be surprised.
Norvik saw everything in terms of what was best for everyone in the long run.
This solution neatly fit those morals. Zed’s unique abilities and status as an inorganic lifeform made him the right crewmember to risk, and Mila had the appropriate skillset to replace him should they lose him.
But it was still so damned strange to listen to his apparent about-face on where their XenX refugee fit in the scheme of things. She’d been arguing with him practically since they’d opened the shipment container and found Mila inside.
Could she really risk Zed, though? Could she demand anyone take this risk? Wouldn’t that be stretching her authority as captain too far?
“Zed, Mila,” she said, stabbing the comm button, “analysis.”
“Given the comms shield parameters,” Zed answered, “a physical proximity hack is the only viable solution. Required: direct hardline interface with the satellite’s primary access port.
Doing so requires a spacewalk. Survival probability for me undertaking the mission is 38.
7%. For any organic crew member, it is 4.
2%. Norvik’s argument that I am the most logical person to perform the spacewalk and deliver the package is sound. ”
There was no fear in that synthesized voice. No reluctance. Only the patient waiting for a command. Zed didn’t think of sacrifice, only function, probability, logic.
The numbers hung in the air. Cold. Brutal. Undeniable. Thirty-eight-point-seven versus four-point-two. There was no choice. Not really. It was Zed or suicide for everyone else.
“Mila?” she prodded.
“I assume you’re asking if I am comfortable stepping into the role of ship’s engineer during Zed’s absence,” she said. “The answer is yes and no.”
“What do you mean yes and no?” Sark asked. “It’s an either/or question.”
“Not precisely, Mr. T’Raan. Yes, I am fully capable of performing the tasks of ship’s engineer, and, yes, I am willing to do so while Zed is away.
“However, Zed has modified all the engineering stations to respond to his wireless commands. For me to take over, even temporarily, we will need to reconfigure the interfaces to be operable by an organic lifeform.”
Yes, of course. When Carmen and Mila had performed the repairs, they’d needed Zed to guide them. They did the physical work of replacing the slagged cables and parts. But they’d needed Zed to operate the system.
The memory of the kiss shot through her mind again like a rocket. The heat. The smell of those intoxicating pheromones. The sensation of surrender.
And the fact that Zed had saved her from it. He was the one who brought her back to her senses.
The sinking dread in Carmen’s stomach deepened, a yawning chasm opening beneath her.
She was likely sending Zed out to die. Not because she wanted to, but because the numbers said it was the only play.
Just like stripping the turrets. Just like every other brutal choice she’d been forced to make.
And reconfiguring the engineering bay so that Mila could operate it felt like she was already acting as though he weren’t coming back.
Control was an illusion. She was just the one steering the ship towards the inevitable asteroids.
“Zed,” Carmen said, her voice sounding distant, hollow even to her own ears.
“You’re up. Norvik, get that hack code packaged into something Zed can carry.
Sark …” She looked at the pilot, who was staring at her with wide, horrified eyes.
“… you’re on propulsion. Rig something to get him over there fast. A backpack thruster.
Make it work. Use whatever junk we’ve got left in the hold. ”
Sark swallowed hard.
“Aye, Captain,” he whispered, scrambling out of his seat, his movements jerky with fear.
Norvik was already turning back to his console, his blue fingers flying.
“Compiling intrusion package now,” he reported. “Optimizing code for direct hardware injection.”
Carmen pushed herself out of the command chair. Her legs felt unsteady. The vibration of the ship seemed to seep into her bones, a constant reminder of how fragile their existence was.
“I’m going down to engineering,” she announced. “To help with the reconfiguration.”
Carmen shook her head. Even she didn’t believe that was the reason.
She needed Mila. Mila understood machines. Mila could help reconfigure engineering to run without Zed’s direct interface.
And Mila understood her – whether she liked it or not.
“Letitia,” Carmen ordered, “monitor the sensors. Anything that looks like it could be a ship on approach, I want to know.”
“On it, Captain.” Her voice was tight, focused. She turned to her console, her posture radiating tense concentration.
Carmen took another breath. The dread was a physical weight now, pressing down. But beneath it, a sliver of desperate purpose ignited.
The plan was set, the die cast. They were sending a machine lifeform on a suicidal job because the organics were too fragile. Because her choices had painted them into this corner. The control she craved felt like sand slipping through her fingers. All she could do now was pray the numbers held.
Pray that thirty-eight-point-seven percent was enough.