“I know that is the official dogma,” Julia said, amused.
“But most of that social interaction is not going to be through face-to-face visits.”
“So I’m told. Hard to envision how the populations will merge as long as that is the case.”
“Most of it is going to be happening through Spacebook and Scape and whatnot,” Zeke went on, referring to the Cloud Ark versions of popular Internet communication apps. “At least until—”
“Until we all ascend into heaven and live happily ever after as one big friendly Ark,” Julia said. “Zeke, you know space operations better than anyone. What is your opinion of the strategy that Markus has been foisting on us? The Big Ride? Even the name seems a bit suggestive, doesn’t it, of . . . I don’t know what.” She exchanged a look with Camila, who giggled at the witticism.
Zeke looked around.
“You don’t need to worry about that,” Julia reassured him.
“About what?”
“Markus’s surveillance network.”
“SAN? I wasn’t worried about it,” Zeke protested. “Just thinking.”
“About what, pray tell? Major Petersen, all kidding aside, I really am quite keen to hear your opinions as an expert.”
“To tell you the truth, I’m thinking about how thin the walls of this pressure hull are,” Zeke said. “When you called in that bolide strike yesterday, you sounded pretty alarmed—I heard the message. Well, you had every reason to be alarmed. I do this for a living now—I go out and inspect these craters, big and small, that are piling up on our equipment. I patch holes, repair stuff that’s broken, and twice now I’ve had to handle fatalities. It’s no joke. If Markus sees an opportunity for us to ascend into heaven, as you put it, behind the shelter of Amalthea, well, I think it’s worth a try.”
“Is Amalthea going to shelter us from the thickening atmosphere? Camila here has been reading the technical reports for me, which Spencer has been so good as to download from the server. She tells me it’s quite serious.”
“The expansion of the atmosphere? It’s damn serious,” Zeke said. “But Izzy’s ballistic coefficient, with Amalthea attached, is huge. She can plow through some pretty thick air, and the rock will absorb all the heat. And arklets can ride along in her wake, like bicyclists drafting behind a truck.”
“All of the arklets?”
Zeke swallowed. “No. She doesn’t make a big enough bow wave to shield all of the arklets. Unless they fly so close together that Parambulator goes nuts.”
“This is the part of Markus’s plan that I can’t understand,” Julia said. “What is to happen to all of the arklets that are not afforded the privilege of nestling into Amalthea’s wake?”
“I don’t know all the details of the plan,” Zeke said. “It is fluid.”
“Meaning, it’s not really a plan,” Julia said.
“It depends on when Ymir gets back. What kind of condition she’s in. How much ice she has. Then we’ll make a plan.”
“And is that to be a dictatorial process? Under the, whatever it’s called—the martial law thing?”
“PSAPS,” Camila said.
Zeke shrugged. “I don’t think Markus is going to put it up for a vote. He’ll get together with his brain trust and they’ll decide.”
“Why bother consulting the brain trust?” Julia asked, as if the idea were a fascinating novelty.
“To bring in different perspectives . . . make sure they’re not missing anything.”
“Are there any Arkies in this brain trust, or are we expected to meekly accept its verdict?”
Zeke was flummoxed. Had he been given the ability to rewind and replay the conversation, he would see that he’d been outmaneuvered. Lacking that perspective, he was tongue-tied for now.