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"You shouldn't believe me. I've given you every reason not to believe me. But that doesn't change the fact that I am the best chance you've got. You may despise me, but I can help you like no one else can. I will give you freedom to operate like no one else can. I would equip you like no one else can."
"Yes, and then you'd cut us loose the moment we're no longer convenient," said Victor.
"No. That won't happen."
"It did before," said Victor.
"I thought I was doing you a favor. You may not believe that, but it's true. And up until that moment I had done everything in my power to stop the drones. I have witnesses who can testify to that fact."
"You can pay people to say anything, Lem. You certainly have the money for it. Testimony means nothing."
Lem laughed and tossed up his hands. "Fine. You win, Victor. I'm Mr. Evil. I'm Beelzebub himself. The Lord of Darkness. That's me. Is that what you want me to say? Is that why you broke into my apartment? To gloat?"
Victor said nothing.
"Why are we even having this conversation?" said Lem. "Nothing I say is going to convince you otherwise. You want to walk out of here and put everything you've learned into the hands of incompetent idiots? Be my guest. You want to condemn the human race to extinction, by all means, don't let me stop you. But if you want to end this and send these bugs back to whatever rock they crawled out of, let me help you. I care about people, Victor. You can scoff and roll your eyes all day if you'd like, but it's true. If it wasn't, I wouldn't have gone to all the trouble I did to find your mother."
The words were like a blow to Victor's chest. He suddenly felt unsteady on his feet.
"She's alive, Victor. And if you put down that gun, I can show you exactly where she is."
CHAPTER 12
Rena
On a salvage ship in the outer rim of the Asteroid Belt, Rena Delgado sat alone at the helm, typing a report at a terminal. It was three hours into sleep shift, and the lights in the helm were dark save for the glow of the screen and the small spotlight above her. The report was a detailed description of all the parts the ship had recovered in its most recent salvage jobs. Navigational equipment, heating systems, wiring, furniture, everything they had stripped from the derelict ships they had come upon. Most of the descriptions were simple and brief. Year, make, model, condition, and any noticeable defects that would influence its price.
But every so often, Rena and her crew would strip something really complex. A drive system, for example. Or an oxygen generator. Something that had a lot of moving parts and a potentially large resale value. These had to be described in great detail, with an account given of all its constituent parts and functions.
And since no one knew ship parts as well as Rena, and since no one could inspect them so thoroughly or determine their value so accurately, the chore of writing the salvage report naturally fell to her.
Rena didn't mind the work. The writing was tedious, yes, but it kept her mind busy.
Plus, whenever she would begin to describe a new part they had found, a memory of Segundo would spark in her mind. He had repaired and replaced so many parts on El Cavador that he had practically rebuilt the ship from the inside out.
Rena remembered every repair. How could she not? Segundo would come back to their room at the end of each work shift and detail everything that had happened to him. People he had talked to. Gossip he had heard. Repairs he had made. It had become a ritual between them. And Rena would listen as she worked, preparing the navigational maps for the next work shift. Then, when Segundo had finished, she would do the same, recounting everything of interest that had happened at the helm.
She had thought nothing of those moments at the time. They were so normal, so wholly unremarkable. And yet Rena would give anything to experience any one of them again.
But no, it did her mind no good to wish for what she could not have.
She pushed the memories aside and looked down at her handwritten notes. She was only three-quarters of the way through the report, she realized. It would be hours before she finished.
She debated going to bed, but if she did, she wouldn't be able to continue until the following evening. The crew would need this terminal throughout the day. There was another terminal in the cargo hold where the survivors from El Cavador stayed, but Rena knew she wouldn't get anything done there. Trying to concentrate among eighteen women and thirty-seven children would be an exercise in futility. No one ever gave her a moment's peace. If there was any issue whatsoever, they all felt the need to bring it to her attention.
"The toilet in the restroom is clogged again, Rena."
"The baby has a rash on its legs, Rena."
"The twins need more blankets, Rena."
"There's a pipe dripping in the corner, Rena, and the droplets are floating everywhere."
Look at this, Rena. Solve this, Rena. Lis
ten to me complain again, Rena.
Even some of the children came to her now, unloading their problems to her instead of going directly to their mothers.
