“Hey, mate,” Coop shouted. “We’re good. Let’s make the place, ah?”
Scotty stood and started walking toward the pad. Basia stopped him, plucked the lit pipe from between his lips, and put it on the hood of the cart.
“Explosives,” Basia said. “They explode.”
Scotty shrugged, but he also looked chagrined. Coop was already easing the first barrel down onto its side when they reached him. “It’s buena work this. Solid.”
“Thank you,” Basia said.
Coop lay down, back against the ground. Basia lay beside him. Scotty rolled the first bomb gently between them.
Basia climbed under the pad, pulling himself through the tangle of crisscrossed I-beams to each of the four barrels, turning on the remote detonators and syncing them. He heard a growing electric whine and felt a moment of irritation at Scotty for driving off with the cart before he realized the sound was of a cart arriving, not leaving.
“Hey,” Peter’s familiar voice yelled.
“Que la moog bastard doing here?” Coop muttered, wiping his hand across his forehead.
“You want me to go find out?” Scotty asked.
“Basia,” Coop said. “Go see what Peter needs. Scotty hasn’t got his back dirty yet.”
Basia shifted himself out from under the landing and made room for Scotty and the last of the four bombs. Peter’s cart was parked beside his own, and Peter stood between them, shifting from one foot to the other like he needed to piss. Basia’s back and arms ached. He wanted this all over and to be back home with Lucia and Felcia and Jacek.
“What?” Basia said.
“They’re coming,” Pete said, whispering as if there were anyone who could hear them.
“Who’s coming?”
“Everyone. The provisional governor. The corporate security team. Science and tech staff. Everybody. This is serious. They’re landing a whole new government for us.”
Basia shrugged. “Old news. They been burning eighteen months. That’s why we’re out here.”
“No,” Pete said, prancing nervously and looking up at the stars. “They’re coming right now. Edward Israel did a braking burn half an hour ago. Got into high orbit.”
The copper taste of fear flooded Basia’s mouth. He looked up at the darkness. A billion unfamiliar stars, his same Milky Way galaxy, everyone figured, just seen from a different angle. His eyes shifted frantically, and then he caught it. The movement was subtle as the minute hand on an analog clock, but he saw it. The drop ship was dropping. The heavy shuttle was coming for the landing pad.
“I was going to get on the radio, but Coop said they monitor radio spectrum and —” Pete said, but by then Basia was already running back to the landing pad. Scotty and Coop were just pulling themselves out. Coop clapped clouds of dust off his pants and grinned.
“We got a problem,” Basia said. “Ship’s already dropped. Looks like they’re in atmosphere already.”
Coop looked up. The brightness from his flashlight threw shadows across his cheeks and into his eyes.
“Huh,” he said.
“I thought you were on this, man. I thought you were paying attention to where they were.”
Coop shrugged, neither agreeing nor denying.
“We’ve got to get the bombs back out,” Basia said. Scotty started to kneel, but Coop put a restraining hand on his shoulder.
“Why?” he asked.
“They try to land now, they could set it all off,” Basia said.
Coop’s smile was gentle. “Could,” he said. “And what if?”
Basia balled his fists. “They’re coming down now.”
“See that,” Coop said. “Doesn’t inspire a great sense of obligation. And however you cut it, there ain’t time to pull them.”
“Can take off the primers and caps,” Basia said, hunkering down. He played his flashlight over the pad’s superstructure.
“Maybe could, maybe couldn’t,” Coop said. “Question’s should, and it’s a limp little question.”
“Coop?” Scotty said, his voice thin and uncertain. Coop ignored him.
“Opportunity, looks like to me,” Coop said.
“There’s people on that thing,” Basia said, crawling under the pad. The nearest bomb’s electronics were flat against the dirt. He put his aching shoulder against it and pushed.
“Isn’t time, mate,” Coop called.
“Might be if you got your ass in here,” Basia shouted. The blasting cap clung to the barrel’s side like a tick. Basia tried to dig his fingers into the sealant goo and pry the cap away.
“Oh shit,” Scotty said with something too much like awe in his voice. “Baz, oh shit!”
The cap came loose. Basia pushed it in his pocket and started crawling toward the second bomb.
“No time,” Coop shouted. “Best we get clear, try and blow it while they can still pull up.”
In the distance, he heard one of the carts taking off. Pete, going for distance. And under that, another sound. The bass roar of braking engines. He looked at the three remaining bombs in despair and rolled out from under the pad. The shuttle was massive in the black sky, so close he could make out the individual thrusters.
He wasn’t going to make it.
“Run!” he shouted. He and Scotty and Coop sprinted back toward the cart. The roar of the shuttle rose, grew deafening. Basia reached the cart and scooped up the detonator. If he could blow it early, the shuttle could pull out, get away.
“Don’t!” Coop shouted. “We’re too close!”
Basia slammed his palm on the button.
The ground rose up, hitting him hard, the rough dirt and rocks tearing at his hands and cheek as he came to a stop, but the pain was a distant thing. Some part of him knew he might be hurt very badly, might be in shock, but that seemed distant and easy to ignore too. What struck him most was how quiet everything was. The world of sound stopped at his skull. He could hear his own breath, his heartbeat. Everything past that had the volume turned down to one.
He rolled onto his back and stared up at the star-speckled night sky. The heavy shuttle streaked overhead, half of it trailing fire, the sound of its engines no longer a bass roar but the scream of a wounded animal that he felt in his belly more than heard. The shuttle had been too close, the blast too large, some unlucky debris thrown into just the right path. No way to know. Some part of Basia knew this was very bad, but it was hard to pay much attention to it.