“Was he blown away? I don’t see the safety line he rigged.”
“It broke when we separated. Do you think he fell?” Louella screamed.
A wave of nausea washed through Pascal; his worst nightmare: to fall endlessly into the heavy empty blackness beneath them. That could have been him if the line had separated when he was coming across. Thank God he was safely tied to this deck when it happened, he thought.
Louella was pulling on his arm, pointing toward the hatch. He followed quickly, eager for the added security of the ship.
“I’ve got to bring the two ships alongside, so we can bring him back,” were the first words he heard when he undid his helmet in the small air lock. “We’ve got to get the ships positioned like they were.”
Pascal nodded his head in agreement. If they could turn this huge ship so that Thorn was once again flying alongside, they could toss another line across and pull the captain back to safety. He bit his lip; it would be hard, going out on deck again, but he felt that he could do it.
“I’ll ready a new line,” he said, and screwed his helmet and his courage into place.
Louella couldn’t possibly toss the line across with only one good arm. On the other hand, he had no doubt of her ability to handle this, or any other ship, even with one arm in a sling.
None whatsoever.
Through the most disconcerting lurches and jumps, Louella managed to bring Thorn back alongside. Primrose was actually sailing backwards, the wind on the reverse of her sails. This allowed her to drag Thorn by the single tow line back into the range of Primrose’s bright lights.
Pascal was dismayed when he saw the dangling figure of their rescuer. He waved furiously, hoping the captain would wave back. But his attempt was in vain—the far figure dangled lifelessly, swinging from side to side with every motion of the boat.
Pascal pondered his situation. How was he to get a safety line across if the other man couldn’t secure it? He didn’t know whether the captain was dead or alive, awake or unconscious. But he couldn’t just leave him there, alone in the dark, waiting to fall should that single, thin thread holding him in place break. What could he do?
He looked at the flapping remains of the former safety line whipping back and forth against the side of the boat, somehow hoping to find it restored.
Louella certainly wouldn’t be able to help, not with her arm out of commission. He stood there for long minutes as he considered his options. First, Rams might recover and climb back up to where he could catch a line. That would allow him to winch the captain back.
If that didn’t happen then he could, he could… what? Leap across the space between the ships, pick Rams up in his arms and leap back? Pascal watched the motions of the two ships carefully as they rose and fell, closed and separated, shifted forward and back, the one with a little sideways motion and the other rolling precariously. Jumping would be impossible, not only because of the unpredictable movement of the ships but for the distance as well. He’d barely clear the edge of the deck before plunging down… He let the thought stop there as he tightened his sphincters. He discarded that option quickly.
Maybe, he hoped, he could catch the line on something over there and pull Rams back. Four futile tries showed him the stupidity of that idea. Which left only one option—going over to the other ship and bringing the slumped figure to safety. But how? He certainly couldn’t get near the edge and risk that long, long fall beneath them.
He went back to the hatch, where he plugged into the intercom and explained the situation to Louella. Surely she would understand, he thought.
“You’re wasting time thinking about it, damn it! Get your ass over there and get him back!” Louella screamed. “I don’t give a rat’s ass how you feel; if you don’t get started in ten minutes I’ll make sure that it gets done myself.”
The thought of Louella with her arm in a cast trying to rescue Rams was so ludicrous that Pascal began to laugh. “You couldn’t even get your suit on by yourself,” he wheezed.
“Exactly, but one hand is all I need to lock the damn hatch so you can’t get back in without him.”
Pascal was horrified, doubting her at first, and then realizing that she was entirely capable of carrying out her threat. “You wouldn’t,” he said.
“Just try me,” she shot back.
Pascal climbed back on deck and winched the stern tow line as close as was safe. He thought that he could slide down the line, but then realized that he couldn’t chance it—one slip and he’d drop into the ten or fifteen meter gap between the ships and plunge into the forever, below. What if he froze halfway across? He’d probably hang there until he gave in to vertigo and then he’d fall, fall, fall into the black maw that thirsted, that called out to him. He shook his head and stepped back farther from the edge of the deck. How could he overcome this fear that left him incapable of action? There had to be some other way, some way to rescue Rams without having to risk a fall. There had to be!
He returned to the hatch and pleaded with Louella to think of something, some way that did not involve making him cross the deep chasm of his innermost fear. They reached the same conclusion as before; that he was the sole resource they had to save Rams.
“In case you think I was kidding, I’ve already locked the hatch,” she muttered before cutting off the conversation.
Pascal debated testing the hatch to see if she had really carried out her threat, but decided against it. He really didn’t care to find out.
He returned topside and worked his way carefully to the stern. He stood there and contemplated what he had to do; what he could not escape doing, no matter what his fear.
Louella had been doing a good job of keeping station. Thorn was still drifting off to the port side, slightly below Primrose’s level. Their positions gave the tow line a downward slope.
All that he had to do was tie himself to the line and slide down to Thorn’s deck. It sounded so easy, so terribly easy. But what if the line parted? No, he couldn’t afford to think about that.
Pascal retreated to the winch at midships, tore the remnants of the safety line away and wrapped a new line, fastening the other end to his suit. That would give him some added security, and could be used to drag Rams back aboard.
He fashioned a short loop around the tow rope with a short length of line, and tied both ends to his suit. After a moment’s hesitation, he attached a second loop—and a third. Just for safety’s sake, he detached the line that held him to the deck and put that around the tow as well. Finally certain that he was quadruple redundantly safe, he lay under the tow and grasped the line with both hands.
Through the narrow visor of his helmet he could only see the tow rope and the spider’s web of lines he had attached. He concentrated on the line and his gloves around it, trying to suppress any thoughts of what he was about to do. He tried to drive away all thoughts of the depths below him, drawing him so deathly down, down, down…
Pascal shook himself. If he hesitated for one more second, thinking about it, he would be unable to move. Ignoring a shudder of stomach-wrenching fear that tore at his insides, he tugged at the tow with one hand, said a short prayer, and began to slide.
There was a snap, a millisecond of a fall, as the slack in his safety lines was taken up by his weight. The tow vibrated for a second more and then Pascal was falling, sliding, hitting the deck of Thorn with a bone-jarring impact. He clutched the tow tightly through his gloves as he tested the solid reality of the deck beneath his feet. He had made it, he had not fallen. He had conquered the depths of his fear. Nothing was beyond him now. Nothing!