The final flight. Up or down.
She tried to push her emotions away, out to some distant boundary. She thought about what lay ahead, tried to visualize this giant net that would be dropping out of the sky.
Precision, Marcel had been saying. Everything had to be done precisely right. One chance. The net would come down and it would go up. She'd have, at best, a minute or so to find the collar and navigate into it.
The mood in the cabin was subdued. MacAllister tried to lighten things a bit by proclaiming that if they came out of it alive he was going to seek out the bishop of New Jersey and submit to religious instruction.
They all laughed, but it had a hollow ring.
Periodically, without success, Hutch tried to regain contact with Marcel.
"I'll be glad," Nightingale said, "to get it over with. One way or the other."
Hutch nodded as if she agreed, but she didn't. Life was sweet, and she wanted to hang on to it as long as she could. But yes, she would be happy to end the suspense, to fly into Marcel's celestial sack and get hauled up to safety. It was just hard to visualize something like that actually happening.
Mac broke out some fruit and nuts, but she had no appetite.
"Do you good," MacAllister persisted.
"I doubt it." Nevertheless, it seemed like something she should do. She selected a dark red globule that resembled and tasted like a pomegranate. Nightingale picked a few nuts and settled back to enjoy them..Mac made coffee and filled all the cups.
"We going to have any trouble getting aloft in this?" he asked, indicating the storm.
"We'll be okay." She'd powered up to the extent possible. There was more than enough fuel in the tanks to take them out to the rendezvous. Even enough to get back, if need be. If it would matter. "We'll do fine. As long as it doesn't get too much worse."
They sat for a time, tasting the fruit, watching the rain.
"You guys all right?" she asked.
Nightingale nodded. "I'm sorry about the elevator," he said. "I-"
"It's okay. Don't worry about it."
Mac took a long sip of coffee. "Confession time, I guess."
"What've you got to confess, Mac?" asked Kellie.
"I…" He thought about it."… haven't always been reasonable."
"We know that," said Nightingale. "The whole world knows it."
"I just thought I wanted to say something. I've done some damage."
"Forget it. I'm sure nobody holds it against you."
"That's not quite so, but it isn't the point."
"Mac, you once said something about people who waste energy feeling sorry for themselves."
He frowned. "Not that I can recall. What exactly did I say?"
"'Best way to deal with a conscience is to beat it into submission so it knows who's in charge. "
"I said that?"
Nightingale had been looking out at the rain during the whole of this exchange. Now he turned and fixed his eyes on MacAllister. "Not really. But it's the best I can do on short notice. Let it go, Mac. It's-past."
The lander shook as another wave rippled through the ground. MacAllister snatched his plate before it could slide off onto the deck. "The whole world's coming apart," he said.
Kellie adjusted her harness. "How much longer?"
"Soon," said Hutch.
In fact, the winds seemed to be lessening. The rain slacked off, although it never really stopped. Hutch tried the radio again.
Suddenly the sky was filled with birds. They were all of one species, black with white wing tips, big, graceful, wings spread to catch the wind. Their flight was erratic, disorganized. To a degree, they were being blown across the sky. But they fought to maintain formation. The wind died, they regrouped, and then, like a single animal, they turned north. They know, she thought. They all know.
When the bombardment had stopped, Scolari and the other Outsiders went back onto the hull and finished the welding assignment. They laid the shaft directly down the length of the ship, as they had before. The same procedure was being followed by the Evening Star team. On the other two vessels, the crews were reattaching the shaft at twenty-seven- and thirty-one-degree angles. That would allow Wendy and Wildside, who'd be up front during extraction, to begin the process of inserting the shaft into orbit.
Shortly after they'd begun they heard about the death of the shuttle pilot who had warned them.
Scolari and his team finished in two and a half hours and came back into the airlock. All four vessels were again locked onto Alpha, except that they now faced the opposite direction.
Although he was new to TransGalactic, Klaus Bomar had been the oldest member of the Star's crew, save for the captain himself. Because he was a contemporary, Nicholson had occasionally invited him to his cabin for a drink, and had ended by becoming quite fond of him. Marcel had been wrong about Nicholson: He did have an onboard friend.
The news hit Nicholson hard.
One of Wendy's three shuttles pulled alongside Drummond's vehicle. The airlock opened, and Drummond took on a physician: Embry Desjardain.
Drummond's assignment was to stay near the sack, and pick up the ground team after they'd been hauled clear of the atmosphere. Embry was a precaution, in case a doctor was needed.
They introduced themselves and shook hands. Then Drummond turned to Janet. "I guess you're relieved," he said. "If you'd like to go back to the Star, your transportation's waiting."
She declined. "If you've no objection, I'd like to stay around for the rescue. You might be able to use some help."
Drummond glanced at Frank, who thumbed a switch. "Okay, Karen," he told the other pilot, "that's it."
Karen blinked her lights and moved away.
"Time to go," said Hutch. "Let's cut ourselves loose."
Marcel, Beekman, and Nicholson posted themselves on the Star bridge. They watched with satisfaction the various status reports coming in. Everything secure. Everyone on station.
All that remained now was to wait while the momentum of the new assembly, the alpha shaft and the four superluminals attached to it, carried the net into the atmosphere above the Misty Sea.
Nicholson had been uncustomarily quiet. Finally, he turned to Marcel and shook his hand. "Good luck," he said. And, repeating the gesture, "Good luck, Gunther."
"Marcel." Lori blinked onto his screen. 7 had momentary contact with the lander, but I have lost it again."
"Okay. Were you able to talk to them at all?"
"They're in the air. On their way to the rendezvous."
The three men nodded encouragement to each other. "Thank God. Was Hutch with them? Who did you talk to?"
"I talked with Captain Hutchins."
Marcel's eyes closed, and he breathed a prayer of thanks.
They flew through a sea of dark clouds, lightning strikes, roiling skies, and glowing red eruptions.
When finally they rose above the worst of the turmoil, Kellie succeeded in opening a channel to the Star.
"Let us trust we can maintain it this time," said Lori. "It's quite good to know everything is well. We've been worried. Are you on course?"
"We are indeed," Hutch said.
"Just a moment, please. I'll notify Captain Clairveau."
Marcel showed up within seconds. "Hutch," he said, "it's good to see you."
"And you, Marcel."
"How'd you get down off the elevator? What happened?"
"Tell you when we get there. Everything's in order here. We are approximately one hour ten minutes from rendezvous."
"Good."
"How are things at your end?"
She got more interference.
"… on schedule." He refined the previous data, giving them the exact position where the scoop would arrive. And he transmitted some visuals. "As you can see, the whole thing looks like a sack made out of chain-link netting. Here's the opening. A nice circular front entrance. More than wide enough for you to fly through. It'll be facing east, and it's near the bottom of the sack. Once you're inside, there'll be fifty meters of empty net below you. The collar will close. Just nestle in, set' down the best way you can, and leave the rest to us."