“They’re taking back the part of them they almost left behind,” said Zeke softly, and there was a kind of reverence in his voice.
Leon barely noticed the sweat pooling in his suit. He watched in awe as Orion continued its slow, methodical rotation, the big snowball maintaining its distance, the small ones dutifully sucking up ice as it became warm enough to flow. Last to go were the chunks in the superstructure, the mass deep in the reaction port, fine tendrils reaching out gently to form a narrow bridge for the flow. And then it was clean; every square meter of hull and superstructure was barren of ice.
They waited for the two smaller snowballs to retreat.
The dirty things stayed where they were, hovering only meters from the ship.
“Now what?” said Leon. “Why don’t they go away?”
“Zeke?” said Waisley over the intercom.
“We’re watching them, sir.”
“Well, they’re not moving, and we’ve got to inspect that reaction port before we get underway. Someone’s going to have to go out and check it. One small ice plug would be enough to blow the nozzle throat out when we fire up. Get someone on it.”
“Got it, sir,” said Zeke, and Waisley clicked off. Zeke looked at them, shrugged his shoulders. “Any volunteers?”
Someone laughed, but otherwise there was silence in the bay. Leon looked at Arnie, but the man only rolled his eyes at him.
“Come on, men, one or two to make a quick check on the port, then back inside. The hull is clear.”
“Those things out there are nearly close enough to touch,” said Leon. “Maybe they’re just waitin’ for one of us to come out, to get back at us for using the flamers. You ever think of that?”
“I hear you,” said Zeke softly, “but I don’t believe it, Leon. Not after what we’ve just seen. There’s some kind of brain behind all that ice and snow. They know exactly what they’re doing, and I don’t think that includes waiting around for a human sacrifice.”
Zeke stepped up and put a hand on Leon’s shoulder. “How about it? You’ve been out there twice with dirty snowballs all over you, and they haven’t killed you yet.” He smiled.
Zeke was right; first time probably an accident, second time when they were using the flamers. Leon swallowed hard, and said, “I ain’t taking anything out with me, no tools, no flamer. And I want Arnie to anchor my tether in case they try anything.”
“Thanks a lot, Leon,” snarled Arnie.
“Just stay by the hatch, and pull me in if they make a move. I’m the one taking the chances!”
Everyone was looking at Arnie, and Leon knew he had him, even when the man glared back. “You’ll owe me for this, buddy.”
Leon nodded, and slapped Arnie’s shoulder. And ten minutes later, the hatch slid open, and they were looking at the roiling mess that was a baby star trying to get born, deep red polar jets spewing forth with force against expanding, boiling clouds of gas and dust. Leon hooked up, Arnie locking in at the anchor point a meter from the hatch. “Two tugs,” he said, “and I’m pulling you in, standing or not.”
Leon rapped Arnie’s helmet with a gloved fist, and grinned. In four strides he was at the sun-line, and the two snowballs were rising like star clusters above the hull, masses of crystals sparkling, faint, green glows at their centers—pulsating. He’d misjudged their distance, or maybe they’d backed off, but they filled his vision, hovering several meters off, each nearly the diameter of Orion. He took a deep breath, exhaled slowly and marched straight to the reaction port, bent over, looked inside. Clear. “Port’s cleared out!” he shouted.
“We hear you,” said Zeke. “Make a hull check while you’re at it, and grab anything loose.”
Leon walked the hull twice, fore and aft, neck getting tired from jerking his head around to keep one eye on the snowballs. “Tools and flamers are gone. I guess they were blown or sucked away. All clear out here. Now what?”
“You’re done. Come on in, Leon,” said Zeke.
He was back at the sun-line where he’d started, and turned one last time for a close-up look. His heart nearly stopped.
The snowball on his left had suddenly moved closer, was nearly on him. His hand tightened on the tether, ready to jerk hard.
The snowball stopped, drifting so close he could take two steps and stretch out to touch it. The greenish pulsation was suddenly mesmerizing. He stared at it for a second before exasperation overcame his reverie. He held his arms up from his sides and waved them like an injured bird. “Why don’t you go away? What the hell do you want?”
Leon Gratz would never forget what happened then. He talked about it for weeks after, until the crew was sick of it.
As Leon lowered his arms, a tendril of icy stuff the size of a man’s arm snaked out from the snowball, its shining tip fluttering like smoke near his face. The tip suddenly bulged, a fist-sized chunk breaking off to float within a meter of his faceplate. And then the tendril reached out again, wrapped once, twice around the icy piece, drew it slowly, gently back into the mass from which it had come.
“Oh, shit,” said Leon. His face was flushed, yet his body was soaking wet and freezing.
“You back inside, yet?” asked Zeke.
“He’s just standin’ there,” said Arnie.
“I’m OK, I’m OK! Zeke, does Cogs still have those chunks of dirty ice we brought in?”
“Well—yeah. They were still chirpin’ away in his lab a couple of hours ago.”
“Zeke, I think these things want the chunks back. I think they’re signaling to each other, and that’s why they’re hanging around. I’m willing to bet money they won’t leave until they get everything back.”
“I’ll tell the captain; you hang on. Leon, you OK out there?”
“Yeah—yeah, I’m fine. Just get the ice.”
“We don’t have air out here forever,” said Arnie.
“Thanks for reminding me, Arnie.”
“Well, we don’t. We’re out here, and they’re not. Can you see Cogs giving up his precious ice sample?”
“That’s what captains are for, Arnie. Take it easy.”
They waited—and waited, Leon nose to nose with the snowball, Arnie cooking sunside and giving an occasional, irritating tug on the tether to show his displeasure. Finally, Zeke came back on line.
“OK, we got it. Cogs understands. He doesn’t like it, but he understands. He’s up to his ass in data on this stuff anyway. We’re bringing it out in a bucket, and right away.”
“I don’t think I’d better move,” said Leon, staring into that greenish glow. “This guy might take it the wrong way.” Even saying so, he somehow didn’t believe it. The glowing ball of snow and ice with the pulsing green heart just floated there, as if it knew what was happening. An organic matrix in water ice. A brain?
“You stay there, Leon.” said Arnie. “I’ll bring it out if you just stand still.”
Leon knew fright when he heard it, but Arnie would do what he said he’d do. He was that kind of man. In a moment he felt a tug on the tether, and snapped a glance over his shoulder. Arnie had hooked himself up to the tether, was shuffling up to the sun-line, head down, a bucket dangling from one hand. When he neared Leon, he looked up, and his eyes were huge behind the faceplate. He put a stranglehold on the tether with one hand, gingerly held out the bucket at arm’s length with the other, and stopped where he was. “Here, take the damn thing,” he muttered.
Leon leaned back to take the bucket by its rim, felt the mass nearly filling it, looked inside and saw flickering, emerald flashes in black ice. He pulled down on the bucket, and the mass floated free at his waistline.