Heaven's War by David S. Goyer, Michael Cassutt Page B

Harley Drake. “I wonder what the poor people are doing this summer afternoon?”
     
    Some time later the baby had been fed, after a fashion, and burped, and carried off to sleep.
    Somebody on the Bangalore team had performed the miraculous function of locating water…it turned out there was a pond of sorts a third of a kilometer up-habitat from the Temple. Open water, seemingly spring-fed, and cleanish.
     
    It wasn’t pure, but it was wet.
     
    Another refugee had completed the second most vital chore for a group of humans in circumstances like this—siting and digging a latrine. Weldon had approved the location, down-habitat from the Temple, far enough from the pond, which was already known as Lake Ganges. “I think the trench is far enough downwind to minimize the odor.”
     
    “Assuming the wind ever blows here,” Zack said. He and several of the men had just paid an inaugural visit to the trench. Dozens of women were clustered not far away, impatiently waiting their turn. “I do think we’re going to need a ladies’. Remember what happens at sporting events.”
     
    “Already on it,” Weldon said. He smiled. “I put our Chinese spy to work with the shovel.”
     
    “Excellent. When he’s done with the ladies’, he can dig new ones farther away, because this ain’t gonna be good for long.”
     
    “You think we’re going to be here forever?” Weldon said.
     
    Zack was about to tell him,
I’m afraid so
, but he collided instead with a tall young Hindu. “Sorry,” Zack said, suddenly feeling old and tired—especially when the young man glared and shook his head, and edged past with energy and attitude.
     
    There was something about the young man that bothered Zack—not the rudeness, but a sense that he had seen him before. But where? Or was it just déjà vu triggered by extreme fatigue?
     
    As they reached the leading edge of the gaggle of waiting women, Rachel approached Zack. “What happened with Pav?” she said.
     
    “Who?”
     
    “Pavak Radhakrishnan. You just slammed into him.”
     
    Shit! No wonder the boy had looked familiar! He was the son of Taj Radhakrishnan, commander of the
Brahma
mission, Zack’s closest friend among the international astronaut community.
     
    “I didn’t recognize him.”
     
    “Do you ever recognize anybody?”
     
    “Come on! Last time I saw him he was two years younger. And he had a different haircut and no piercings or tattoos.” He wanted to laugh, or shout with relief; this was the first normal father-daughter conversation he had had with Rachel in weeks. “But your point is taken.”
     
    “Sorry.” She moved off.
     
    “Tempers are frayed,” he said, as he and Weldon resumed their trek back to the Temple.
     
    “It’s not going to get better, not until people have been fed and given some rest.”
     
    “And we start all over the next day.”
     
    “We need to get organized now,” Weldon said.
     
    “Agreed. We need to elect a leader and the equivalent of a city council to assign tasks and referee arguments—”
     
    Weldon smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “I nominate you.” They had caught up to another clutch of male urinators, including Harley Drake, Gabriel Jones, Vikram Nayar, and several men Zack didn’t know. You could tell they were engineers and astronauts, Zack realized; theydidn’t just piss against the nearest wall, but rather waited patiently. Zack had not been present when his wheelchair-equipped friend performed whatever maneuvers were required to urinate. He could only imagine—
     
    “Hey, Harls,” Weldon said. “I’ve just told Zack that he should be Supreme Leader.”
     
    Gabriel Jones perked up. This was his area of expertise. “Sorry, Vikram,” he said to the
Brahma
mission director. “What Shane means is, he’s proposing Zack as a
candidate
for…mayor of our combined community. The job should also be open to someone from Bangalore, too. In fact,” Jones continued, with enthusiasm so