Grye's cheeks quivered and stretched, "What do you mean?"
"What are you going to do when you're riding your bit of iron, down there by the Core himself — and you find you're on a path that isn't in your tables of numbers? At the critical moment — at closest approach — you'll have maybe minutes to react. What will you do? Turn back and draw some more curves on paper? Eh?"
Sheen snorted. "You're an expert, are you?"
He smiled. "At last you're recognizing my worth, darling." He tapped his head. "Listen to me. There's more on orbits locked in here than on all the bits of paper in the Nebula."
"Rubbish," she spat.
"Yes? Your little friend Rees doesn't think so, does he?" He hefted his spear in Ms right hand; Sheen kept her eyes on the spear's bone tip. "But then," Quid went on, "Rees has seen what we can do with these things—"
Abruptly he twisted so that he faced the star kernel; with surprising grace he hurled the spear. The weapon accelerated into the five-gee gravity well of the kernel. Moving so fast that it streaked in Sheen's vision, it missed the iron horizon by mere yards and twisted behind the star—
— and now it emerged from the other side of the kernel, exploding at her like a fist. She ducked, grabbing for Grye; but the spear passed a few yards above her head and sailed away into the air.
Quid sighed. "Not quite true. Old Quid needs to get his eye in. Still—" He winked. "Not bad for a first try, eh?" He prodded Grye's sagging paunch. "Now, that's what I call orbital dynamics. And all in old Quid's head. Astonishing, isn't it? And that's why you need the Boneys. Now then, Quid needs his drink. See you later, darling…»
And he brushed past them and entered the
Quartermaster's.
Gord shoved his thinning blond hair from his eyes and thumped the table. "It can't be done. I know what I'm talking about, damn it."
Jaen towered over the little engineer. "And I'm telling you you're wrong."
"Child, I've more experience than you will ever—"
"Experience?" She laughed. "Your experience with the Boneys has softened your brains."
Now Gord stood. "Why, you—"
"Stop, stop." Tiredly Hollerbach placed his age-spotted hands on the table top.
Jaen simmered. "But he won't listen."
"Jaen. Shut up."
"But — ah, damn it." She subsided.
Hollerbach let his eyes roam around the cool, perfect lines of the Bridge's Observation Room. The floor was covered with tables and spread-out diagrams: Scientists and others pored over sketches of orbital paths, models of grandiose protective shells to be built around the Raft, tables showing rates of food consumption and oxygen exhaustion under various regimes of rationing. The air was filled with feverish, urgent conversation. Wistfully Hollerbach recalled the studied calm of the place when he had first joined the great Class of Scientists; in those days there had still been some blue in the sky, and there had seemed all the time in the world for him to study…
At least, he reflected, all this urgent effort was in the right direction, and seemed to be producing the results they needed to carry through this scheme. The tables and dry graphs told a slowly emerging tale of a modified Raft hurtling on a courageous trajectory around the Core; these sober Scientists and their assistants were together engaged on man's most ambitious project since the building of the Raft itself.
But now Gord had walked in with his scraps of paper and his pencil jottings… and his devastating news. Hollerbach forced his attention back to Gord and Jaen, who still confronted each other — and he found his eyes meeting Decker's. The Raft's leader stood impassively before the table, his scarred face clouded by a scowl of concentration.
Hollerbach sighed inwardly. Trust Decker, with his instinct for the vital, to arrive at the point of crisis. "Let's go through it again, please, engineer," he said to Gord. "And this time, Jaen, try to be rational. Yes? Insults help nobody."
Jaen glowered, her broad face crimson.
"Scientist, I am — was — the Belt's chief engineer," Gord began. "I know more than I care to remember about the behavior of metals under extreme conditions. I've seen it flow like plastic, turn brittle as old wood…"
"No one is questioning your credentials, Gord," Hollerbach said, unable to contain his irritation. "Get to the point."
Gord tapped his papers with his fingertips. "I've studied the tidal stresses the Raft will undergo at closest approach. And I've considered the speeds it must attain after the slingshot, if it's to escape the Nebula. And I can tell you, Hollerbach, you haven't a hope in hell. It's all here; you can check it out—"
Hollerbach waved his hand. "We will, we will. Just tell us,"
"First of all, the tides. Scientist, the stresses will rip this Raft to pieces, long before you get to closest approach. And the fancy structures your bright kids are planning to erect over the deck will simply blow apart like a pile of twigs."
"Gord, I don't accept that," Jaen burst out. "If we reconfigure the Raft, perhaps buttress some sections, make sure our attitude is correct at closest approach—"
Gord returned her gaze and said nothing.
"Check his figures later, Jaen," Hollerbach said. "Go on, engineer."
"Also, what about air resistance? At the speeds required, down there in the thickest air of the whole Nebula, whatever shoal of fragments emerges from closest approach is simply going to burn up like so many meteors. You'll achieve a spectacular fireworks display and little more. Look, I'm sorry this is so disappointing, but your scheme simply cannot work. The laws of physics are telling you that, not me…"
Decker leaned forward. "Miner," he said softly, "if what you say is true then we may after all be doomed to a slow death in this stinking place. Now, maybe I'm a poor judge of people, but you don't seem too distressed by the prospect. Do you have an alternative suggestion?"
A slow smile spread over Gord's face. "Well, as it happens…"
Hollerbach sat back, letting his jaw drop. "Why the hell didn't you tell us in the first place?"
Gord's grin widened. "If you'd troubled to ask—"
Decker laid a massive hand on the table. "No more word games," he said quietly. "Miner, get on with it."
Gord's grin evaporated; shadows of fear chased across his face, reminding Hollerbach uncomfortably of how much this blameless little man had endured. "Nobody's threatening you," he said. "Just show us.»
Looking more comfortable, Gord stood and led them out of the Bridge. Soon the four of them — Gord, Hollerbach, Decker and Jaen — stood beside the dull glow of the Bridge's hull; the starlight beat down, causing beads of perspiration to erupt over Hollerbach's bald scalp. Gord stroked the hull with his palm. "When was the last time you touched this stuff? Perhaps you walk past it every day, taking it for granted; but when you come at it fresh, it's quite a revelation."
Hollerbach pressed his hand to the silver surface, feeling his skin glide smoothly over it… "It's fric-tionless. Yes. Of course."
"You tell me this was once a vessel in its own right, before it was incorporated into the deck of the Raft," Gord went on. "I agree with you. And furthermore, I think this little ship was designed to travel through the air."
"Frictionless," Hollerbach breathed again, still rubbing his palm over the strange metal. "Of course. How could we all have been so stupid? You see," he told Decker, "this surface is so smooth the air will simply slide over it, no matter what speed it travels. And it won't heat up as would ordinary metal…
"And no doubt this structure would be strong enough to survive the tidal stresses close to the Core; far better, at least, than our ramshackle covered Raft. Decker, obviously we'll have to go through Gord's calculations, but I think well find he's correct. Do you see what this means?" Something like wonder coursed through Hollerbach's old brain. "We'll have no need to build an iron bell to keep our air in place. We can simply close the Bridge port. We will ride a ship as our ancestors rode… Why, we can even use our instruments to study the Core as we pass. Decker, a door has closed; but another has opened. Do you understand?"