Earth Unaware (First Formic War)

know how. I don’t know when. But I will never lead this family because I can’t stay. I can’t take a wife here. I can’t raise children here. Not when everything I see around me reminds me of Janda.”
    But Victor said nothing. How could he? The family needed Victor now more than ever? How could he even think of leaving? It was selfish. It was abandonment. Yet what could he do? Try as he might to seal off that part of his brain where memories of Janda were stored, he couldn’t. She was forever tied to this ship, and no event, not the starship, not the corporate attack, nothing could ever change that. Father left before Victor found the courage to say anything, and Victor removed his greaves and flew back to the engine room. He found Mono there, replacing a few of the burned-out circuits. “We’ve got a day to get this thing online, Mono.”
    “Good luck,” said Mono. “It’s a piece of junk. It should have seen a scrapyard four hundred years ago.”
    “They didn’t have space flight four hundred years ago. Besides, we don’t have a choice.”
    He told Mono about the scout ship. He knew he probably shouldn’t, but the Council would find out soon enough, and then everyone on the ship would know. At first, Victor was worried that the news would frighten Mono. But to his surprise it had the opposite effect, with Mono all the more determined to get the generator up and running.
    They worked long into sleep-shift. When they finished, nearly twelve hours later, they were both exhausted and filthy. “Flip the switch, Mono.”
    Victor got the fire extinguisher ready, just in case, while Mono went over to the switch box and turned on the power. They had tried to reboot the generator several times over the past few days, but every attempt had failed: knocking sounds, burning components, an array of sparks. On several occasions they had cut the power as quickly as they had turned it on. Now, however, the generator slowly came to life. The readout screen flickered on. The motor whirred and grew stronger. The turbines spun and gained speed. No knocking. No sparks. No screeching of metal.
    Ten seconds passed. Then fifteen. The roar of the turbines grew louder. Victor watched the numbers on the readout screen, his heart racing. The turbines were at 60 percent. Then 70. Then 85. The turbines were screaming now, the sound rattling the entire engine room. Then 95 percent. Victor looked at Mono and saw that the boy was laughing. Victor couldn’t hear the laughter over the roar of the generator, but the sight of it—along with the sudden release of all of Victor’s pent-up anxiety—set Victor to laughing, too. Laughs so big and long that tears came out of his eyes.
    *   *   *
    Victor stood in the airlock in his pressure suit, waiting for the ship to stop. Father was beside him, along with ten miners, all of them facing the massive bay doors. The three repaired PKs floated among them, with the miners holding them in place with bracing cables. Victor could hear the retros firing outside, slowing the ship. After a moment, the rockets stopped, and then Concepción’s voice sounded in Victor’s helmet. “Full stop, gentlemen. Let’s make this repair quick, if we can.”
    The Council had agreed to Concepción’s recommendation: El Cavador would come to a complete stop, Victor and Father would install the repaired PKs, and the ship would accelerate to the Italians, still a day away. It hadn’t been an easy decision. Mother had told Victor after the fact that quite a heated discussion had preceded the vote, with many people siding with Toron and urging extreme caution, preferring to stop immediately and observe the scout ship among the Italians from a safe distance. The final vote to continue on as soon as repairs were made had passed by the slimmest of majorities.
    Victor punched a command into the keypad on the airlock wall. There was a brief warning siren followed by a computer voice telling them the wide cargo doors were about to open. The computer voice counted down from ten, then the doors unlocked and slid away. All of the air inside the airlock was sucked out into space, and the star-filled blackness of the Kuiper Belt stretched out before them.
    Victor’s HUD in his helmet immediately got to work. The temperature outside was negative three hundred and seventy degrees Fahrenheit, prompting the heating mechanism on his suit to compensate. Other windows of data told him oxygen levels, heart rate, suit