The moment of decision had come. The rig was swinging out of the bright lights of the other ship and coming toward him. His stomach hurt. He was either going to die on this crippled ship or drop to a certain death. He felt like crying, he was so afraid.
“What are you doing out here anyway?” Rams asked as he unhooked the woman from the rig, confident that the suit radios would work at this close range. “You sure don’t look like miners.”
“We’re one of the teams in the Great Race,” Louella replied.
“A race? On Jupiter? What sort of foolishness is that?”
“Don’t tell me that you haven’t heard about the Race. Hell, it’s been on every newscast for the last year. Crap, we’re probably the biggest celebrities on the whole planet.”
“Don’t have much time for news,” Rams replied. “Radio don’t work down here. Have to depend on the media they send down the elevator to keep up with events. Besides, if it doesn’t have to do with cargo or weather I don’t pay much attention to it.”
“We’re in a race with some other barkentines—it’s the first Jupiter sailboat race,” Louella explained. “JBI sponsored and financed our boat.”
Rams cursed softly to himself, and then said aloud, “Must be nice to be able to waste money like that. I can think of guys who could use that boat for something worthwhile; something better than some fancy trophy!” he added vehemently.
“Well, I’m certain that JBI will be grateful. They’ll probably reward you for rescuing us.”
“Well, that might be nice, but I’m going to get more than a little reward out of JBI, you can depend on that. Salvage alone ought to pay off the debt on Primrose —that’s my ship,” he added pointing at the deck with one glove. “The other thing might pay for something more.”
“What other thing?” Louella asked, but Rams ignored her.
“What’s going on with your partner?” he wondered. “What the devil is he waiting for? Why isn’t he hooking himself up to the rig?”
“I was afraid this would happen,” Louella answered. “Pascal’s afraid of heights. Probably shitting in his suit right now, just thinking about the drop in front of him.” Louella waved her good arm vigorously over her head. “Come on Pascal, you asshole; hook up and get the hell over here!” she shouted, forgetting that the object of her scorn couldn’t possibly hear her.
After long minutes of waiting with no sign of action by the small figure on the deck of Thorn, Rams swore. “Do you think that you can operate that winch with one hand? Looks like I need to go over there and kick your buddy in the ass.”
When Louella signaled the affirmative, Rams connected a pair of heavy lines to his belt. One of them was tied to the stern docking ring. He activated the winch to bring the rig back.
He grabbed the rig as it swung back, hooked it to the rings of his suit, and signaled Louella to start the winch. “Keep those lines from tangling,” he warned her as he stepped off the deck and began to swing across the gap.
As soon as Rams’s boots hit Thorn’s deck, he secured his safety line. He detached the rig and quickly clamped it to Pascal’s suit, brushing aside the other man’s arms when Pascal fought him. He secured the last clamp, unclipped Pascal’s safety line, and waved his arm for Louella to start the winch.
Pascal protested, stiff-legged, against the pull of the winch. The resistance was putting an extra load on the line, so Rams stiff-armed him in the middle of the back, forcing him forward. At that moment the two ships spread apart and pulled the line taut. With a scream, Pascal was yanked from the deck to hang above the inky blackness. As the ships bobbed and danced in the winds, he jerked on the line like a spastic marionette.
Rams headed aft to secure one of the heavy lines to the stern docking ring. The other end was tied to the docking winch on Primrose and could be used to pull Thorn.
After tying the line Rams dropped through the hatch and recovered Thorn’s log. The owners would probably want it if they couldn’t get the ship back. He stowed the log in his hip pouch and emerged on deck just in time to catch the returning rig. He grabbed it and lashed it to the deck. It would stay until he was finished securing the other line to the bow.
Thorn lurched, dropping far below Primrose. She rocked violently from side to side, her motion the result of the enormous mass embedded in her keel. If that thin ribbon broke from the strain, it would release the weight, and Thorn would shoot up like a released cork, endangering both ships.
Quickly paying the safety line behind him, Rams struggled to the bow.
Bracing himself against further moves of the deck, he clamped the second line to the ring. This way, after he connected the other end of this lead line to Primrose’s forward winch, he could adjust the two ships so they rode side by side.
Satisfied with his work, he took the free end and began his way back to the rig. When he managed a quick glance at Primrose, he noticed that her sails were shifting, which indicated that she might be drifting, changing her heading. He had to get back and trim her sails before she got out of control. He started walking faster.
He was halfway back when a sudden gust shot the two ships apart. The tow line he’d tied at the stern straightened and vibrated like a violin string. The safety line parted with a snap that whipped the rig out and back. In seconds it was flailing downwind, lashing the hide of Thorn like the whip of a deranged jockey.
Rams straightened as the Thorn’s bow swung away and the ship came stern-wise to Primrose, where it jolted it to a stop. He stumbled backwards, trying to regain his balance, just as the wishbone switched sides and slammed to the end of the extended traveler.
And against Rams’s right leg.
The intense pain in his leg was the first thing Rams felt when he recovered consciousness. Then he tried to make sense of the upside down view of the swaying side of the ship. He realized that he was hanging head down from his safety line, his left leg bent under him. First, he felt cold, and then hot as the pain from his leg shot through him. Waves of increasingly severe pain washed up from his leg until he could think of nothing else.
During a brief respite from the pain, he tried to move. Something was holding his arm immobile. He tried to reach across with the other arm, desperately seeking the safety line that lay somewhere out of sight. After a few fumbling tries he gave up. Hell, even if he could find it, he wouldn’t be able to climb back to the deck, not in his condition.
He calmly assessed his situation before the pain returned. He obviously couldn’t do anything for himself, and the only other help was a woman with a broken arm and a little fart who was too afraid to do anything. Neither one would be able to help him. He was going to die.
Without warning he lost his dinner, fouling the inside of his helmet and filling his nose with sour, burning fluid.
Then he passed out.
Pascal picked himself off of the deck and looked toward Thorn. She was gone! In a panic he looked to the other side, saw nothing, and then looked to the stern.
Very faintly he could see the dim reflection of the ship’s lights off Thorn’s pointed stern. Glinting in the lights was the thin line that held the two together; it must be the line the captain had rigged before the wind hit them.
“Do you see him?” Louella’s voice crackled in his ears. “I lost sight of him when the gust hit us.”