Kellie was starting to show interest.
"That's why they carry the Bussard-Ligon," continued Hutch.
"Which means what?" asked MacAllister.
"Their jets burn hydrogen, like all landers. The reactor maintains the ship's normal power levels. It keeps batteries charged, powers the capacitors, keeps the lights on."
"And?"
"It can also be used to separate hydrogen from oxygen to produce fuel."
MacAllister's face lit up. "You're saying it can make jet fuel?"
"All we'll need is some water," said Hutch. "Yes. That's exactly what it can do."
"There was a river nearby," said Nightingale.
"Well, how about that," said MacAllister. "We finally get lucky."
Nightingale allowed his contempt for MacAllister's ignorance to show. "Landing sites for exobiologists," he said, "were often near water. On beaches, near lakes, and so on. It's where animals congregate."
"And pilots are trained to use them," added Hutch, "whenever they can. So they can keep the tanks topped off."
"So how do we get the reactor running?" asked Nightingale. "What fuels it?"
"Boron," said Hutch.
That induced a worried look. "Where do we get boron?"
"There should be a supply in the lander. There'd have to be."
"How much would we need?" asked Nightingale.
She held thumb and index finger a few centimeters apart. "Not much at all. I'd think a couple of tablespoons will be more than sufficient to get us up and running. We'll check the specifics later."
MacAllister clapped his palms together. "Then we're in business," he said. "All we have to do is head over to the other lander, and we're out of here." He turned to Chiang. "I have to tell you, Chiang, I was worried there for a minute."
"Well," said Hutch, "we're not exactly out of the soup. The jets will give us some power, enough to get around down here. But-"
"They won't be enough," said Kellie, "to get us off-world. For that we need the spike."
"The problem we can expect," said Hutch, "is that after all these years the capacitors will be degraded. Seriously degraded. We need the capacitors at full capability to run the spike."
"You mean," asked MacAllister, "we can't use it to get into orbit?"
"That's correct."
"Then what have we been talking about?"
Hutch gazed down at the Star lander. "What we need," she said, "is a fresh set of capacitors. Any idea where we might find them?"
The engine compartment of the Wildside lander had been thoroughly fried. But the Evening Star's boat was a different story. It lay wedged in the chasm like a giant black-and-white insect. "Marcel," Hutch said, "this thing's big. How much do the capacitors weigh?"
There was a long pause. Then: "Uh-oh."
"Give me the uh-oh."
"On Deepsix, 43.4 kilograms. Each." Damned near as heavy as she was.
It wouldn't be practical to haul them overland. "We'll pull them out," she said, "and leave them in the tower. Come back for them after we get Tess up and running."
"That won't work, will it?" asked Beekman. "Can you operate the lander without capacitors?"
"Once we convert the water, sure. We just won't have much lift capability."
Marcel broke in: "Good news, folks. We've located Tess."
"How far?"
"Looks like 175 kilometers, give or take. We figure you've got about twelve days to get there. Maybe eleven. Eleven Maleivan days." Eleven nineteen-hour days.
"That doesn't sound far," said MacAllister. "A couple of us ought to be able to cover that in short order."
"It wouldn't be a good idea to stay here alone," said Hutch.
"Why not? I can't walk 175 kilometers."
"You stay here, you'll probably get eaten."
He looked uncomfortable. "Leave me a weapon."
"When are you going to sleep?"
"We've got plenty of time," said Chiang, helpfully. "You'll be able to make it."
"Think about the big cat," said Nightingale.
"Okay," he said. "Point taken."
She turned her attention to the chasm. "If that's settled, let's collect the capacitors and get on the road."
The capacitor compartments looked accessible. It was just a matter of climbing down to them.
"There's another possibility," said MacAllister. "How about trying to fly it out?"
"It's jammed in sideways," said Hutch.
"You've got an AI. It's not as if anybody would have to be on board when you made the effort."
Kellie's expression implied that she agreed.
It was conceivable. If it wasn't wedged too tight, the thrusters might break it loose. Maybe they could bring it out, land it in front of the tower, climb in, and go home.
But it did look tight. Had to be tight.
The ship's prow was angled down about ten degrees.
MacAllister saw her reluctance. "Why not?" he persisted. "If we can make it work, nobody has to risk his-or her-life climbing down and prying open engine compartments." The use of the feminine pronoun was pointed. He was reminding her who was in charge and who, therefore, should take any such risk.
"What it would probably do," said Hutch, "is rip the roof off the cabin."
"What's to lose? If we can't get it out, we don't care whether the cabin's secure, do we?"
Kellie shook her head. "Fireball time," she said. "Crunch the cabin, split the fuel tanks, everything goes up. Including the capacitors."
"Even if we try to ease it out?" said Nightingale.
"We can try it," said Hutch finally. She got the Evening Star duty officer on the circuit, and told him what they wanted to do.
"You sure?" he asked.
"No," she said. And then: "Yes. We need your assistance."
The duty officer spoke to the lander AI: "Glory, can you hear me?"
"I hear you, Mark."
"What is your status?"
The AI ran off a series of numbers and conditions. On the whole, Hutch thought, the damage might not be as serious as it looked. There was some broken circuitry, which meant control problems. Maybe they could replace them with parts from the other lander. Maybe they could fly it over to Tess and use the two to make a fully functioning spacecraft.
The AI reported that thrusters were okay, and there was lift. "Although there seem to be balancing problems."
"That's because it's on its side," said Kellie.
The vehicle weighed probably eight metric tons.
"Glory," said the duty officer, "the next voice you hear will belong to Priscilla Hutchins. I want you to code her. Do what she says."
"I will comply, Mark."
"Go ahead, Hutch," he said. "She's all yours."
"Glory, this is Priscilla Hutchins."
"Hello, Priscilla."
"I want you to engage the lifters and raise the nose until I tell you to stop."
They heard metal grind against the chasm wall. Snow broke loose and fell to the bottom. A piece of rock let go, and the lander slipped deeper into the trench.
"Glory, stop," she said.
"Priscilla, I do not have freedom of movement."
"Try firing the rockets," said MacAllister. "That should break it loose."
"Break it, period," said Kellie. She leaned over and looked down. "We could try to cut away some of the rock."
Nightingale made a face. "It would just slip down farther. If it changes its position, we might lose access to the capacitors."
He was right. The best chance lay in the original idea: Collect the capacitors, then get the other lander. But it would have been so good, so elegant, to ease the spacecraft out into the open.