“Good luck,” said Alyx, now safely back inside.
“Two minutes to jump,” said Jennifer. “On schedule.”
The Mac’s engine temperatures were rising again.
Hutch opened a channel to Claymoor’s quarters. “You ready, Mr. Claymoor?” she asked.
“Oh, yes. Indeed I am.”
“We’re only going to have a couple of minutes. Meet me at the cargo airlock.”
“On my way.”
“Be careful. We’re still accelerating.” That was probably wishful thinking. The asteroid was massive, and the instruments, not designed for the current situation, were producing confused readings. Red lamps were blinking everywhere.
Brownstein’s lips were drawn back, revealing lots of even white teeth, through which he was sucking air the way people do when they’re watching someone suffer. He had the engine status display on his overhead. “Be good to shut them down,” he said. “Even if it’s only for a couple of minutes.”
“Everything’s going to be okay, Yuri,” she said.
He nodded. Damn right.
She climbed out of her seat, felt her way back down the luxuriously appointed corridor—Universal News treated its correspondents pretty well—and descended to the lower deck, where Claymoor was struggling into an e-suit. He had an imager clipped to his vest.
He seemed to know what he was doing, so she busied herself with her own gear.
“Hutch,” he said, “I appreciate this.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. Claymoor.”
“My friends call me Henry.”
“Henry,” she said, “be careful when you’re out there. This is going to be very quick. Point, click, and run.”
“I understand.”
She pulled on her go-pack and clipped a cutter onto her harness.
Brownstein’s voice: “One minute.”
Hutch heard the captain shut the fusion engines down. Their steady roar was replaced by the somewhat erratic rumble of the Hazeltines. She sat down on the deck, signaled Claymoor to follow her example, and waited for her stomach to tell her they were making the jump.
Chapter 35
HUTCH’S VOICE WAS electric: “Under way.”
Tor was sitting outside under the sky. Yes, he thought, come get me. I’m here.
Hutch stayed with him. “Everything’s on schedule. We should be able to make this work.”
And later:
“Tor, we’re passing.01c. That’s nowhere close to the chindi rate, but I think we’ve just set a record for the McCarver.”
His eyes drifted shut. The only sound, other than her voice, was his breathing.
“Still running true. Getting some overheating in the big ship, the Longworth, but it’s nothing we hadn’t expected. In fact, it’s less than we’d thought it would be by this point. We don’t think it’ll be a problem.”
He got momentarily careless. He’d been standing near the rise where he’d been when the chindi had passed the Memphis—when there’s no gravity it doesn’t much matter whether you stand or sit—and he was picturing the shuttle coming in to pick him up, how it would be, Hutch climbing out to embrace him. And he gave way to habit and hunkered down on the side of the rise, breaking the contact between his grip shoes and the hull. He was horrified to realize he’d begun to drift.
“Alyx says not to worry.”
He was able to touch the ground, but there was nothing to hold on to. He succeeded only in pushing himself higher.
Keep calm.
The incline saved him. Just before he floated out of reach, he remembered it was there, behind him now, and he got a foot out and mashed it against the rock.
It stopped him.
The episode had probably lasted less than three seconds, but it left him trembling. If I ever get home, I’m going to spend the rest of my life on the front porch. Hiding under a deck chair. The thought brought a smile.
“When we get close,” Hutch continued, “I’ll let you know. Best will be to wait for us outside. Where we can get to you without any waste of time…. Well, you know that, Tor. I don’t have to tell you…. I guess I’m just making conversation.”
He’d never tried to conduct a monologue. It had to be hard on her. Hell, she didn’t even know for certain that he could hear her. And he wondered if she was becoming resentful of the burden he’d imposed, if when it was over, whether he lived or died, she’d remember these hours, how she’d stayed on the link, talking away, trying to distract the idiot who’d refused to take her advice. How could she not be annoyed?
“Getting ready to start the McCarver’s engines.”
He felt a psychological need to lie down. Take it easy for a bit. It occurred to him he hadn’t slept for a while. But he didn’t want to spend what might be his last hours unconscious.
He looked over at the exit hatch.
Maybe just a few minutes.
“Okay, Tor. We’re up and running. So far, we’re doing fine.”
He climbed back onto the ladder, grateful for the gentle tug of the chindi’s gravity field. He descended back into the passageway, stretched out behind the dome, and closed his eyes.
THE MCCARVER AND Dogbone passed smoothly into transdimensional space. Hutch checked her go-pack, opened the airlock, and did a quick inspection. A few meters below, the rock looked enormous. It was a boulder tied to a large pigeon. Drifting through fog.
“Henry—” she said.
He nodded. “All set.”
“Whatever you do, don’t lose contact with the hull. We aren’t going to have time for retrievals.”
“Don’t worry, Hutch.” He did in fact look as if he knew what he was doing.
The go-pack was strictly a safety feature, a backup. She left her feet and glided toward the prow. Dogbone had been connected forward to the docking assembly, and in the after section the securing cable had literally been looped around the hull.
The rock had constituted a severe drag during the few minutes after the Longworth and the Memphis had cut loose. Now however, the Mac and the rock were drifting together, at the same casual speed.
Hutch arrived at the docking gear, caught hold of a strut, ignited her cutter, and went to work on the cable.
“Three minutes, Hutch,” said Brownstein.
“Why’s the time so critical?” asked Claymoor.
“It determines where we show up on the other side.” In sublight space.
The cable parted, and she separated the links and cast them away, making sure the ship was clear.
“I thought these things, these jumps, were pretty inexact.”
“Not at a range this close.” She turned and moved smoothly toward the Mac’s after section, aiming for a sensor dish. “This is almost pinpoint. Even a few seconds’ delay can put us hopelessly off target.” She became aware that Claymoor was tracking her, recording every move. Details at eleven.
“Two minutes.”
She used the dish to stop herself, pushed down to the mount, activated the cutter, and applied it against the line. Like the other connecting cables, it was really a triple. She realized belatedly she should have tried to work out another plan, had somebody else here to help. This was just too close.