Maximum Ice Read Online Free PDF

ape, you pig greaser, you…”
    Kristof tried to quiet her, hovering with hands outstretched, as though trying to shove the words back into her.
    “And
you.”
She propped herself up on one elbow, glaring at the doctor, sucking in a breath, but before she could summon her bile, Kristof pressed an ampoule into her arm and she swooned, managing just “backside of a loose-boweled cow…”
    “Tereza,” Anatolly began again.
    “I want to die,” she whispered, pawing at the front of his jacket.
    Last year, Tereza had miscarried, and her depression still lingered. The barren earth had pushed her over the edge.
    “Tereza, you’re young, you have everything to…”
    “You clown! I have nothing, nothing to live for.” When she was angry like this, at least she wasn’t crying. He restrained himself from patting her hand.
    When he didn’t react, she raised her voice for the benefit of the few other patients on the ward. “We’re all going to die! The earth is nothing but a snowball. I shit on God!”
    Anatolly looked up at Kristof, blaming him for not managing his patient.
    Kristof shook his head. No more sedatives. But to the captain it seemed she could stand a rather large dose.
    “We’re dead already, Anatolly Razo,” she growled, “a fact you have failed to notice since you yourself have been dead for decades.”
    The scene was attracting attention, as med personnel peered in from doors and the gaggle in the corridor pressed heads in to observe the fracas.
    It was not going well, this little scene. The crew didn’t need this hysterical pessimism. At his side, Sandor was whispering for him to withdraw, to send flowers from hydroponics.
    Anatolly turned from the distraught woman and addressed his real audience, the hospital staff and his officers.
    “Now listen to me.” He had had enough. It was time for a speech, and a damn good one. Or a loud one, at any rate. “We’re not going to die. We’ve come too far for too long to give up now. We are going to do what we’ve always done, and that is to carry on.”
    “Horse shit,” came Tereza’s comment.
    Ignoring her, he raised his voice and swept the room withhis gaze, staring down the doctors and nurses, and the startled patients in their beds, as well as his gawking staff.
    “We will set to work. We will immediately dispatch another shuttle and resume our research. The sooner we understand what we face, the sooner we will overcome it. I’m putting Lieutenant Jozsef Mirran in charge of the primary shuttle for immediate deployment to the surface. See to that.” He nodded at Sandor. “The rest of us will work with the samples Lieutenant Bertak’s shuttle is bringing in. And we will provide succor and strength to each other—especially to those recently bereaved— not hopelessness and despair.”
    He strode from the room, muttering to Sandor, “Send flowers to that woman.”
    Breaking through the knot of officers, Anatolly headed back in the direction of the bridge.
    Lieutenant Andropolous latched on like a burr. “Sir, Janos Bertak wishes to speak to you.”
    “Tell him I’m in the head,” the captain snapped. “And tell him my decision.”
    “But what
is
your decision?”
    “Zoya goes.”
    He made for the head and slammed the door behind him. Walking to the sink, he doused his face in cold water. In the mirror he saw an old man with white hair and a few jowls. He drew himself up, tucking in his chin, but it was no use. Tereza was right, he looked halfway to the grave. Her words stung, because he felt the truth of them. He had been middle-aged when elected captain, and he was now older by far. He was always decades behind—or ahead of—the young and virile men who looked to him for leadership. What kind of grip could an old man have on
Star Road?
A weak one, he thought. But it depends on your high-wire act. Part of which was making tough decisions and staring down detractors, by God.
    He dried his face and turned away from the sink. Zoya would