“You’re sure?” Eric says.
Prakesh nods. “There are plenty of reactor schematics on that data stick. I mean, it’ll take time, and some of us’ll need to live on the Ramona for a while, but it’s definitely possible.”
Eric grimaces. “I don’t like it. That ship’s barely afloat as it is.”
“Yeah, but the HAARP’s fuel got destroyed in the explosion. If we want it to keep going, we need that reactor working.”
“But you’re sure?” says Harlan.
They’re in the hospital basement in Whitehorse, clustered around the table in Eric’s quarters. The space around them is full of noise: low conversations, laughter. The sound of life.
He nods. “We can do it.”
Eric leans over the map. The frown hasn’t left his face. “It’s a shame the other one isn’t here. Riley’s friend. From what I hear, he was pretty good with machines.”
A little bomb goes off in Prakesh’s chest, like it always does when someone mentions Aaron Carver. He knows what Eric means–Carver would have had the best idea of how to get the fusion reactor working again, how to get it joined up to the HAARP. He saw things differently, especially machines. Prakesh misses him a lot more than he thought he would. Jojo, too–and he knew him for less than two days. His body, like those of so many others, is still on the Ramona.
“We’ll make do,” he says. “We have to.” And they would. They have the astronauts from the Tenshi Maru, plenty of whom have technical knowledge. They’ll find a way.
They’re never going to be able to get the Ramona upright. But despite the damage, the HAARP itself made it through. It hasn’t had fuel for a while, so it’s probably shut itself off, but they should be able to start it up again before any permanent damage is done to the climate.
He doesn’t know if they’ll have to station people on the Ramona permanently, or if that’s even possible given the ship’s condition. That’s all still up in the air. Prakesh has heard Eric and Harlan and some of the others talking it over, late at night, occasionally raising their voices to argue a point. He hasn’t joined them yet. One thing at a time, he tells himself.
Suddenly, Prakesh doesn’t want to be here. It’s been like that lately–an urge to move, to walk, no matter what he’s doing at the time. It comes out of nowhere, and he knows better than to fight it.
He straightens up, smiles at them. “I’ll leave you to it.”
“Where are you going?” Harlan says.
“Just, you know.”
He ducks out of Eric’s quarters, wincing as he does so. The bullet punched right through him, leaving an ugly scar–a round crater of painful, puckered flesh, right below his heart. He still doesn’t know how he survived. The first thing he remembers is waking up in Whitehorse, in more pain than he’d ever felt in his life.
Somehow, he got through it. The rest of the workers were there, along with dozens of others he hadn’t seen before. Eric brought them all, running back and forth to Anchorage. It took three or four trips to do it.
He walks down the central passageway, hands in his pockets. Over at the end, he can see one of Riley’s old tracer unit friends, deep in conversation with someone he thinks is her dad. Anna, that’s her name. He hasn’t said much to her, but she gives him a friendly wave anyway. He returns it.
He intends to head out of the hospital, maybe take a walk. But as he passes the vegetable garden, he changes course. The garden itself is in an area walled off with hanging plastic sheets, sticky with condensation. He pushes through them, casting a practised eye over the large half-drums, turned on their sides and filled with good soil. His fingers stray to the surface of one, and tiny clumps gather under his fingernails.
He’ll get his walk in a minute.
The trowel is just where he left it, and he squats on his haunches. His scar complains, but he ignores it, working the soil, letting his mind drift. As it so often does, it drifts back to his parents.
He’s read the message Anna brought him so often that he has it memorised. It’s not difficult, not for something so short. His mother was the one who wrote it, tapping it out on a small tab screen that Anna brought with her. Prakesh has wondered a thousand times why they didn’t record a video. The letter doesn’t say, and when he asked Anna she said she didn’t know.
We don’t have long, the message read. Your father and I want you to know that we won’t suffer. Nobody on the station will. They’ve found a way to make it painless–we’ll all just go to sleep.
He works the soil harder, the words running through his mind.
We know you took responsibility for Resin. We cannot tell you enough that it wasn’t your fault. Nobody here thinks so. It was bad luck, and that’s the end of it. I know this probably won’t change how you feel but please realise that if you hadn’t done it, someone else would have. It was inevitable.
We never thought any of us would ever go back to Earth. It hurts that we can’t be there with you and see the things you’re seeing. But we know you and Riley will be happy. I wish we could have known her better but she means a lot to you and that is enough for us. Take care of her. I want grandchildren!!!
We love you and we are so so very proud of you.
Prakesh props the trowel in the end of the soil bed, running the last line over again in his mind.
This can wait. He needs to get out.
As he heads back down the passage towards the entrance, his thoughts turn to Riley.
She’s getting better every day. She smiles more, talks more. She’s coming back to him, piece by piece. He wishes it would happen faster, but he knows not to rush things. He’s got a long way to go himself.
Where are you? he thinks. He finds himself closing his eyes, as if he can find out where she is by thought alone. Then he opens them, and keeps walking.