“We have a lot of raw materials to work with, don’t we?” Luisa asked. “I’ve seen rolls and rolls of that aluminum ribbon for feeding into the extruder machines.”
“It is a question of time,” Fyodor said. “Yes, we have a lot of material. But to assemble it with so few people is difficult. Atmosphere is growing, drag is increasing, orbit is decaying.”
Dinah looked across the table at Rhys. Rhys the biomimetic engineer, the man who had perhaps saved Ymir with his idea of turning robots into little, radiation-resistant Ben Grimms.
“We’ll build it out of ice,” Dinah said.
Rhys looked up at her, pondered it for a second, and nodded.
“Too brittle,” Fyodor said.
“I don’t think Dinah’s speaking of regular ice,” Rhys said. “She means the pykrete stuff they used on Ymir. Fiber-reinforced ice. It worked to hold the shard together. We can make it work here.”
Moira spoke up. “Perhaps I’m missing something, but I was under the impression that the ice was our propellant. Aren’t we going to melt it, and consume it, as we go along?”
“Yes,” Doob said.
“And doesn’t that mean that we’ll be consuming the structure that’s holding everything together?”
“Yes,” Doob repeated, “but it’s okay. Because the more of it we use, the lighter we get, and the less thrust we need. So it’s okay to sacrifice some structure as we go along.”
Sal had been listening intently. “I don’t mean to throw cold water on the idea,” he said. The pun—assuming he meant it as such—elicited a few groans. “But we’ve been hearing about radioactive contamination.”
“On the outer surface of the shard, yes,” Dinah said. “Microscopic motes of stuff that is super radioactive, stuck to the ice. Beta won’t penetrate our living spaces. We’ll have to be careful, though, not to track it inside. We can program robots to crawl around, look for those hot motes, and get rid of them over time.”
Sal looked unconvinced.
“I won’t lie to you,” Dinah said. “People are going to die of it.”
“But the trade is as follows,” Rhys said. “Izzy already has a massive battering ram of nickel-iron on her snout. Her flanks are vulnerable, as we learned today. Now we have the ability to shroud everything—the entire space station—in reinforced ice. Oh, it will dwindle over time. But through most of the Big Ride we’ll be living deep inside of a gigantic iceberg with a steel nose. I submit that the death toll from possible contamination will be minor compared to what we would experience if we went on the same journey unprotected.”
“What do you need to make it happen?” Ivy asked.
“Permission,” Dinah said.
“When did you ever ask for that before?”
The joke elicited a high-pitched laugh from the corner of the conference room. Heads turned toward Camila.
“Camila,” Ivy said, “we’ve hardly heard a word from you since we found you in the Shipyard. One of our witnesses there claims you may have saved Tekla’s life. You had the opportunity to escape with Julia. Instead you stayed behind to free the bound Shipyard workers. You saved their lives. Now you’re here among us. You must know how this looks.”
The look on Camila’s face made it clear that how it looked had never crossed her mind. She didn’t even get what Ivy was saying.
“Dear,” Luisa said, “people are going to say you are a spy who volunteered to be left behind.”
Camila held up a closed fist and opened it to reveal a small white plastic box, loose tape still dangling from it. “Julia’s bug,” she announced. “It was here.”
No one looked very convinced.
“She invited me to dinner at the White House,” Camila said. “She helped me pick out a dress. She introduced me to generals, ambassadors, movie stars. She wrote me letters on White House stationery. I was—I was in love with her. You can call me naive if you want. All right. I was naive. Until this morning. And then all of a sudden I saw. I saw what I was dealing with. I hate her now. And I hate myself for having been in love with her.”
“Best remember that, sweetheart,” Moira said. “Because she made the wrong choice today. And sooner or later, she’ll be coming back.”
“I’ll be ready,” Camila said.
Endurance