Assuming those were functioning properly, the lift probably could have made the descent even at the height of the storm, he told himself as he brought controls and readouts to life. He could only hope they hadn’t delayed the rescue effort too long.
He struggled with some of the controls. Not because he was unfamiliar with them—they had been designed to be intuitively manipulated even by someone with little to no knowledge of the instrument layout itself. It was because the operator’s cab was small and cramped, a far cry from the comparatively spacious bridge of the lander.
The controls had been kept as straightforward and deliberately unsophisticated as possible. A few were even non-haptic, and required manual operation. This seemingly crude design element was actually intentional. In a difficult and unfamiliar environment, manual controls could often be jury-rigged and repaired on the spot, whereas electronics required more sophisticated intervention that wasn’t always readily available.
He continued to prep the vehicle for departure as Upworth toiled beside him, removing anything unnecessary from the control cab in order to make as much room as possible in the already confined space. As they hurried, Ricks’ voice sounded over the cab’s comm. He was still on the bridge, infusing the drop preparations with the necessary final programming.
“I’m giving you full plasma intermix on both engines and all four thrusters. Gonna give you one fuckload of thrust—if you don’t blow up on the way down.”
“That’s the point, son.” Tennessee spoke while receiving and authorizing drop programming via the cab’s console. “Anybody and anything can fly a cargo lift—as long as it’s straight down. Gotta be able to punch through the atmos on the way back up. Go a hundred percent on the mix. Override safety margins if you have to. I don’t want to get down there, load passengers, and have to get out and push in the middle of a storm.”
Ricks’ tone suddenly changed from businesslike to one of excitement. “Hey, I got Danny on comm! Weather’s finally giving us a break, and she’s coming through nice and clear.”
“All right. Patch her through.” Finally, he thought. Some encouraging news.
In contrast to the muddled, barely comprehensible surface-to-orbit exchanges that had taken place previously, it was a relief to finally hear Daniels’ voice without having it break up or disappear altogether.
“That you, Danny?” he called out toward the main console pickup. “Looking forward to seeing you in the flesh.”
If he was expecting anything resembling relaxed banter, he was instantly disabused. Her reply was clear, all right. It was also terse, and no-nonsense.
“How soon can you launch?”
Rendered somber by the seriousness of her tone, he paused in making the final preparations.
“Storm’s pretty much passed. Breaking up in places to where we can actually visual the ground. That’ll help a lot. Cargo lift doesn’t come equipped with much in the way of nav gear, but you know that. Right now we’re priming the fuel intermix to make sure we’ve got plenty of thrust for the return trip. Also doing some retrofitting to the cab and platform. Throwing overboard everything that’s not required.”
Her reply was calm but firm. “I need you to launch now, Tee. Forget everything else. Losing weight, the weather—launch now.”
Never had he heard her sound so anxious. It wasn’t like the depression that followed Jacob’s death. This was fear. If whatever had happened down below was getting to her that bad…
“Aye aye,” he called back. “Launching now. See you soon, darlin’.” Switching off the comm, he initiated the drop sequence.
Dark readouts sprang to illuminated life while small holos materialized in front of him, above the uncomplicated console. This was going to require some deft piloting. In the present situation, its basic onboard computer could only do so much. During both drop and pickup, a human hand would be needed more than ever.
Cradling a box full of backup instrumentation in both arms, sweat beading on her forehead, an alarmed Upworth looked over at him. “You’re not ready to launch. We still have—”
He cut her off. “They’re in trouble down there. Big trouble, based on what we’ve heard. Danny just confirmed it. Didn’t you hear her?”
“Sure I heard her, but…”
“She said ‘launch now,’ and that’s what I’m doing. If time wasn’t critical she wouldn’t have made the request. Nobody knows better than Danny what kind of prep is necessary to get a cargo lift ready to do an extra-atmospheric drop. I have to go.
“Go on, get to the bridge.” He gestured for her to exit. “I’m launching. Now.” When she just stood motionless, staring back at him, he leaned toward her and raised his voice.
“Now.”
Her mouth set, she nodded once. “Good luck. Bring her back. Bring everyone back.”
She left him. As soon as she was clear he shut the cargo lift’s door and checked the relevant readout to make sure it was sealed and airtight. Sliding back into the seat he quickly ran a last rescan of the readouts and holos. Nothing had changed since Ricks had delivered the final set. Everything was secure and ready to go.
Despite his determination to launch immediately, no matter what, he was quietly relieved to see that the fuel intermix was complete. Regardless of the situation on the surface, at least he wouldn’t lack for the power to leave it behind.
A touch on one control disengaged the umbilicals. The lift gave a slight quiver as the tentacle-like power- and fuel-feeders slid away from the sturdy vehicle. On the bridge, Ricks waited until they had fully retracted before giving the final go-ahead.
“I’m clear here,” Tennessee said. “Release the docking clamps, and don’t wait for backup countdown. I haven’t got time to play checkers with the onboard computer. Let’s get this fucker down.”
Seated and sealed into the cab, he did not hear the whoosh of escaping air that fled the confines of the hold as atmosphere and craft simultaneously exited the Covenant. Keeping a close eye on the nav instrumentation, Tennessee deftly manipulated the thrusters and engines until the lift was well clear of the mother ship. Only then did he engage sufficient power to slow the ungainly craft and start it on its journey downward.
Monitoring the descent both via instrumentation and by peering out the cab’s wide port, he was greatly relieved to see that only a few rapidly dispersing clouds now reached upward to clutch at him. Not so much as a spark arced between the scattering cumulus. Unless the weather underwent a radical change in a very short span of time, he wasn’t going to have to worry about the climate.
Which left him ample time to consider what he was going to have to worry about. It didn’t help that, at this point in time, he knew absolutely nothing.
Bathed in sunlight following the passage of the terrible storm, the dead city took on a new aspect. Towers and pylons, arches and spirals of stone and metal and exotic materials caught the glow and seemed almost reborn.
While hardly festive, the resulting transformation did at least render the necropolis less forbidding. Gazing at it David could imagine what it might once have been. It was a considerable change from the all-pervasive gloom that weighed heavily on every structure and every dead body at night. Shadows could be banished, but not echoes of the city’s former glory.
Sitting before the urn containing Shaw’s remains, David played an elegiac air on a flute of his own manufacture. It was lilting, lovely, full of sadness and reminiscence. Poetry rendered as music. While the small flute was limited in its range, under the synthetic’s skilled fingers it generated an astonishing array of sounds.