The Swarm by Orson Scott Card

distance, especially out here where there was so much open space. Cinders were like big flashing signs that alerted everyone remotely close that you were in the neighborhood.
    Victor shrugged. “I’m stumped, Mar. Have you talked to Arjuna?”
    â€œI wanted to talk to you first, in case I’m missing something obvious.”
    â€œYou know the equipment, Mar. I don’t. If you trust it, if you checked the filters and everything seems to be working, I’d talk to Arjuna.”
    She hesitated. “He won’t like that.”
    â€œHe needs to know. Arjuna may want to send a probe ahead or reconsider our approach as a precaution.”
    She nodded. “Right. I’ll talk to him.”
    She left. Victor returned to work, but the idea of an asteroid growing dimmer stuck with him. It didn’t make sense. Was the International Fleet testing a new weapon? Something powerful enough to chip away at an asteroid piece by piece? That seemed plausible. A lot of corporates tested new tech in the Kuiper Belt, far from the prying eyes of competitors. Perhaps the IF was doing the same.
    When the scanner was done, Victor returned the processor to the oven.
    He and Magoosa worked in the engine room well into their sleep shift. There were more boards to print and more components to borrow from elsewhere on the ship—and they had to alter the design of the OE slightly to fit what they had available—but finally, after nearly twenty hours, Victor finished soldering and turned the OE back on. It hummed quietly and woke Magoosa, who had fallen asleep nearby.
    Magoosa patted Victor on the back. “You see? This is what the IF needs. Mechanics who can work miracles. Engineers who have the skills.”
    Victor smiled. “Go to bed, Goos. It’s late. We’ve neglected all our other repairs. Tomorrow we’ve got a backlog waiting for us.”
    But Magoosa’s words stayed with him long after the boy had left and all was quiet. Was Victor right not to enlist? Did he have a duty with the Fleet?
    He pulled out his wrist pad and checked his messages, pleased to see an e-mail from Mazer. He read it, surprised to hear that Mazer was being court-martialed. We’re doomed, Victor thought. If the leadership of the IF are the type that would imprison their best asset, the human race didn’t have a prayer.
    There was an attachment. Mazer had made notes on Victor’s newest design. Victor read through the notes and agreed with them all. The hook-and-release mechanism was too slow. He would need to rethink that. Or better yet, perhaps it was time to scrap this design and start anew.
    He drew three more sketches of new designs, but by the end of the third he was fighting back sleep. He rubbed at his eyes and yawned.
    â€œIt’s a lot more comfortable in the barracks,” a voice said.
    Victor looked up, startled. Imala was drifting up between two of the water storage tanks to his right, snaking her way into the center of the engine room.
    â€œYou’ve got the OE working,” she said. “Nice to know we won’t die. I never doubted you.” She drifted over to where he had stretched out and snuggled up next to him.
    He put an arm around her and pulled her close. She was wearing soft fleece pajamas and smelled of fresh detergent. Her long, black Apache hair was braided into a ponytail that floated behind her. Victor gently lifted her chin and studied her face. Some people lost their beauty up close, where every minor imperfection became painfully obvious. But not Imala.
    She had believed him about the invasion when everyone else thought him delusional. She had stood by him, fought with him, saved his life. And now she loved him. Even now, after several years together, he still couldn’t wrap his head around the notion. Him. Ordinary, plain-looking him. It left him feeling inadequate sometimes, even slightly guilty, as if he were committing some great injustice by asking