The hatch swung inward to reveal Menasha’s husband, lanky Yved Denshyar, and their burly son, Amin. Menasha was across the floor in three strides, hugging them both and kissing her husband hard on the mouth. Beleraja felt a stab of envy. Her own husband was seven hundred eighty-five point six light-years away, helping to evacuate the population of Best Chance. Shontio just looked away.
Yved and Menasha released each other and drew themselves up into more formal postures.
“First Master Denshyar,” said Shontio, stepping up and giving Yved the full salute. “Welcome aboard.”
“Thank you, Station Director.” Yved returned the salute. “Commander Poulos.”
“Yved. Amin.” Beleraja saluted them both. “What have you seen?” It was a traditional shipper’s question, even though over recent years it had become a painful one.
Yved’s long face fell into grim lines. “We’ve lost another two worlds, Bele. We got there and…” His voice faltered and his hand strayed out to catch Menasha’s.
“We found a créche on La Dueña,” said Amin softly. “They’d been trying to isolate the newborns from… something. We…” He swallowed. “We think the babies starved to death after all the adults died.”
Shontio touched his fingertips to his mouth, whispering a prayer.
“In the burning name of God,” whispered Beleraja. “There was no one left?”
Amin shook his head and Beleraja felt her fists clench. “This is why we have to do this,” she whispered, whether to herself or to the others, she didn’t know. “This is why we are right.”
“There’s worse, Bele,” said Yved, his hand still squeezing Menasha’s.
“Worse?” Beleraja’s voice rose high and thin with disbelief.
“We were only able to bring you twenty-five hundred people.”
Beleraja’s throat shut. Twenty-five hundred? Only twenty-five?
Next to her, Shontio went gray. “That’s not enough,” he barked. “What were you thinking? Five thousand would have barely done it. We have to hold acreage, post lookouts, get secure facilities up and running… and we’ve got to expect the hothousers will get some, and Pandora will get others, and…” He began to shake, his chapped hands twitching at the ends of his wrists. “What happened?”
Yved just clenched his jaw. Beleraja decided she didn’t want to know what he was holding back.
“La Dueña happened,” answered Amin for his father. “And Far Jordan, and there were people who changed their minds, and people who were too infectious to move.”
“Twenty-five hundred,” whispered Shontio again. One hand came up, cupping around the air, seeking something to grab hold of. “Oh, God’s own. God’s own.”
He ran through the bay hatch. Beleraja, her blood gone as weak as water, could think of nothing to do but race after him.
Beleraja pushed her way into the overflowing hallway just in time to see Shontio vanish into the next hatch between the pair of superiors stationed to keep that way clear. She sidestepped around the squatters and pulled up short in front of the superiors, who both reached for their tasers before they recognized her and drew aside to let her in.
On the other side of the hatchway, Beleraja saw Shontio, director of Athena Station, head of one of the four ruling families, doubled over beside the curving wall, one arm wrapped around his stomach, as if he were trying to hold in his guts.
“Tio…” She started forward.
Shontio flung his hand out, warning her away. Beleraja froze in her tracks. Shontio straightened up into an old man’s stoop. He stared for a moment at the tarnished wall, and then lashed out with one fist, striking the metal with a ringing, crashing blow that fell hard against the sound dampeners.
“Tio…” breathed Beleraja, her own hands hanging useless at her sides.
It took Shontio four tiny steps to turn himself around to face her. His whole body trembled. Blood spread across his ruined knuckles.
“We’ll have to send them down anyway,” he said, his voice perfectly steady.
Beleraja swallowed and tried to speak, but no words came to her. “We have to send them down.” Shontio’s face hardened as he fought to control the shudders that wracked him. A droplet of blood fell to the matted floor. Tick.
“We can’t do it,” said Beleraja hoarsely. “We’d be killing them.”
Shontio forced his shoulders to square themselves. Another drop of blood fell. Tick. “They can’t stay here. There’s no place to put them.” He lifted his bleeding hand and looked down at the scarlet threads trickling across his fingers. “Twenty-five hundred. Not enough to save us, or themselves.