It took forever for the outer hatch to open. When it provided sufficient room she squeezed through, hauled her equipment out onto the hull, and made for the shuttle.
“Good luck,” said Claymoor, over the link.
Hutch opened up and climbed in. She locked her gear down, and the AI released the spacecraft. She started the engine and waited for green lamps. “Jennifer,” she said, “assume adequate fuel. Give me a course.”
Jennifer complied. It was pretty much straight ahead. Hutch fed it into the onboard navigator. “You understand,” Jennifer said, “that it will be necessary to run the engines until the fuel gives out.”
“I understand.”
The engine fired, and she pulled quickly away from the yacht.
“Fuel will last between ten and twelve minutes.”
“Okay. Assume adequate quantity for the mission. Time to chindi?”
“Twenty-one minutes.”
“Hutch.” Brownstein again. “We have it on the scopes.” He relayed the image. It was enhanced, and Jennifer had brightened things a bit. She looked for Tor, hoping he’d be standing out on the surface, but the picture wasn’t clear enough.
SHUTTLES DON’T CARRY much fuel. They have no atmospheric capability and are used exclusively for ship-to-ship or ship-to-station operations. Consequently, they simply don’t need much fuel. The pilot, or the AI, programs a course, uses the propulsion system to provide a kick in the right direction, and settles down to a glide path. Hutch, on the other hand, was using the engine to brake, so it would be firing nonstop and gulping its supply of fuel precipitously.
She opened her channel to the chindi and held her breath. “Tor, can you hear me?”
“Hutch? Are you out there somewhere?” His voice sounded strained, frightened, relieved.
“I’m in a shuttle. Approaching from the rear and above, a few degrees off the starboard quarter.”
“Thank God, Hutch. I’m almost out of air.”
“I know. Sit tight. We’ve been having some problems.”
“Yeah. I got that impression.” She heard him take a deep breath. “Why are you in a shuttle? Where’s the ship?”
“Engines gave out.”
“You’re kidding.”
“It’s all right,” she said. “The shuttle works fine.”
“Good. Hutch, you have no idea how glad I am that you’re here.”
“I think I do—”
“Fuel is down to three-quarters,” Jennifer said.
Ideally, if she could continue to brake at her present rate, she could slow down enough to match the chindi’s speed and simply drift in beside the exit hatch and pick Tor up.
Voila`.
Except that she was going to run out of fuel before that could happen, and the shuttle would gallop past. “Tor,” she said, “how much air have you left?”
He hesitated. “Twenty minutes. Maybe a little bit more.”
Ahead, she could make out the chindi. “Yuri,” she said “I’ve got visual contact.”
“Acknowledge.”
“Are you still watching it?”
“Yes.”
“Can you see Tor?”
Hesitation. “Yes. He’s outside. Near the hatch.”
“Okay, Yuri. There’s a possibility.”
“Hutch, what possibility?” He sounded as if he thought she might try to crash the thing.
“Jennifer, using best estimate of fuel reserves, if we continue with the original plan, and we run out when you expect us to, how fast will we be traveling when we pass the chindi?”
“Approximately seventy kilometers per hour.”
It sounded possible.
“Hutch, you are approximately seven minutes from engine shutdown.”
She looked over at the go-packs. “Jennifer, let’s try it a different way. I need you to do some math for me.” She described her idea.
“Won’t work,” Jennifer said. “The go-pack doesn’t have enough fuel. It’ll give you eight minutes before it goes out. That’s not enough. You’d still hit at over fifty.”
“That’s not so good,” Hutch said.
“You would bounce once and continue on your way.”
“If there were a way to get the tanks to him…”
“The tanks, like your parts, would keep traveling. You are not going to attempt this, surely.”
No, she wasn’t.
“Hutch.” Tor sounded excited: “I can see your lights.”
“Just a little while now,” she said. Her brow was damp and she had to wipe sweat out of her eyes. She took a drink of water, still trying to get the taste of vomit out of her throat, and then turned on her e-suit. “Jennifer, depressurize the cabin.”
“Complying.” The AI hesitated, and Hutch could almost hear her sigh. The chindi was still hard to make out, not much more than a shadow moving among the stars.
“Fuel at one-eighth,” said Jennifer. “Range to the chindi is 380 kilometers. Closing at 2420 kph.” Relative to the chindi.
Hutch gave the controls back to the AI.
“I advise against this procedure,” said Brownstein.
She was thinking how to handle four go-packs. “I know, Yuri,” she said.
“I’m aware that you do. My advice is for the record.”
She couldn’t do anything to get ready until the gee forces subsided. But that wasn’t going to take long: The fuel warning lamp began to blink.
“Hutch, are we going to be able to manage this?” Tor’s voice, sounding worried.
She removed a pinger from the console and clipped it onto her harness. “Yeah, we’re fine. But listen, you’re going to see the shuttle sail past without stopping. Don’t worry about it. I won’t be in it.”
“You won’t? Where’ll you be? What’s going on?”
“Range 360,” said Jennifer.
“I’ll be coming in by go-pack.”
“Hutch, why…?”
“I’ll explain later. It’s going to be okay, Tor.”
The chindi’s bulk was expanding across the stars. She could make out the propulsion tubes now.
The lamps went bright red, and the engines shut down. End of the line. She opened the inner hatch. “Hutch, range is 340.”
“Okay.” The gee forces had gone away. She climbed into the backseat where she had more room, pulled a go-pack over her shoulders. At a standard one gee, it would have weighed nine kilograms.
She strapped a second go-pack onto her belly, was pleasantly surprised to discover it fit nicely, and that it could probably be fired without damaging any vital parts. As long as she didn’t move too much.
She used a five-meter length of cable to tie the remaining two go-packs together, and looped the loose end over her shoulder.
She struggled over to the hatch, feeling like a mover. Even though she was in zero gravity, the go-packs were awkward to handle. She squeezed through and bumped out into the night.
THE CHINDI WAS a large dark mass dead ahead. Its propulsion tubes, four dully reflective rings, were pointed in her direction. She activated the pinger, which would home in on Tor’s radio signal and allow her to head directly for him. She used her attitude control to aim her feet at the chindi, and thereby, more or less, the nozzles of the two go-packs. Satisfied she was on target, she hit the green buttons simultaneously. The go-packs fired their thrusters and she felt a gentle backward thrust. The shuttle began to move ahead.
The unit she’d tied on to her belly tried to go sideways, but she quickly straightened it and held it in place.
“It’s working,” she told Brownstein.
“Hutch,” he replied. “Remind me not to travel with you again.”
“Best traditions of the service,” she said.
“Right. Make sure you don’t whack into the thing’s ass end.”
“I’m slowing down.”
“One would hope. You have the extra pair of go-packs?”
“Sure.”
“The way we read it, if you use both sets, at the very best you’ll still be doing thirty klicks when you hit the hatch.”