She paused. “Uh, no. Not without an explicit authorization. Maybe not then.”
Zhang nodded approvingly. “Very good, Cui, you’re thinking like a space captain. You may get your own ship yet. If we live through this. The ability to put yourself in somebody else’s shoes, that’s a valuable survival skill in space. We have a lot more in common up here—and a lot more risks we share—than the groundpounders understand.”
“All right, sir, but what if you’re wrong about this? What if she has secret orders to finish us off? They’ve had time to fab a bomb…”
“Then we are at the mercy of Fang-Castro’s conscience. She has as much space experience as I do, and I have as much faith in her as I would have in me. I know what I would do, without a moment’s hesitation.”
But it was all academic, anyway, Zhang thought. The fate of the crew of the Celestial Odyssey had been taken out of their hands a day ago, when they’d made the burn that put them on an intercept course with the Nixon. Either she’d rescue them or she wouldn’t. Zhang had done the best he could.
Soon he’d know if his measure of the American admiral was correct. He and Cui headed for the bridge. It was time to play out the next scene in this drama he’d constructed.
“Comm, open a distress frequency channel.” The murmurs between the bridge crew got momentarily louder; then everyone became very, very quiet, as Zhang’s gaze swung around the room. He spoke calmly and clearly, with the utmost respect and deference, yet with no hint of subservience.
“This is the Chinese deep space research vessel Celestial Odyssey. We are issuing a Mayday call. We are in distress and are in need of immediate assistance. Please respond.”
He waved a finger at the communication station to close the channel. “Comm, put that on a ten-second loop. Repeat it until we get a response. When we do, patch it through immediately.”
He smiled at Cui: “Now? We wait.”
55.
Fang-Castro watched the rearward screen as the Celestial Odyssey closed on them. If she cut the engines, they’d arrive in ten minutes. She had no intention of doing that, because there was little doubt that the Chinese ship could fire up its engines to keep up with the slowly accelerating Nixon. The Chinese were two kilometers to starboard, well out of the path of the VASIMR engines’ exhaust and safely distant from a collision course.
“Let’s hear the hail,” she said.
Summerhill, the comm officer, said, “It’s recorded, on a loop.”
He touched a button and Zhang came up, in the middle of a sentence: “…are in need of immediate assistance. Please respond.” After a couple of seconds of silence, the recorded message started from the beginning. On the second repeat, Fang-Castro ordered it muted.
“Put me through to the Odyssey,” Fang-Castro said. Summerhill touched another button and then pointed at her: “You’re up, ma’am.”
“Celestial Odyssey, this is the United States Spaceship Richard M. Nixon. We’ve received your distress call. Please stand by.” She signaled the communications officer to close the channel. After a quarter minute, the muted distress message loop cut off.
“Good. They’re listening full-time,” she said. “Mr. Crow? Mr. Francisco? Anything you want to say before I proceed? This is for the official record.”
Crow shook his head: “We’ve talked it through. Speaking officially and for the record, as the President’s representative, I’m satisfied that we have prepared as well as we can for… whatever eventuality. I agree that under the accepted laws of space, we are required to perform a rescue of a ship in distress, if we are able to do so.”
“Thank you,” Fang-Castro said. “Mr. Francisco?”
“I agree with Mr. Crow, ma’am.”
Fang-Castro signaled Summerhill to reopen the channel to the Chinese. “Ship in distress, Celestial Odyssey, this is Admiral Naomi Fang-Castro. What is the precise nature of your emergency and what assistance do you require? Over.”
“Admiral, this is Admiral Zhang Ming-Hoa. I am very happy to hear from you. I will keep this brief: my ship was badly damaged during our aerobraking maneuvers at Saturn. Most of our hydrogen tankage is gone. Our remaining tanks cannot carry enough reaction mass to get us back to Earth before our life-support or engineering systems fail. We have expended almost all our reaction mass just to match velocities with you. In your vernacular, we ‘need a lift.’ Otherwise, we are all dead. Over.”
Crow said, to no one in particular, “There it is.”
Fang-Castro: “Admiral Zhang, do you need immediate retrieval? How much time do we have? Over.”
Zhang: “We are not at imminent risk, but we cannot match your acceleration indefinitely. We will exhaust our reaction-mass reserves in less than half a day. Over.”
“Admiral Zhang, we will consider your request and get back to you. Over and out.” She turned to Crow and Francisco. “Let’s adjourn to the conference room, where we can sit down and talk this out.”
A moment later, settled into the conference room chairs, she said, “Thoughts?”
Francisco: “I suggest we drop the whole thing back into Zhang’s lap. He’s the one with the real problem. Supposedly. What should he do to convince us? He couldn’t imagine we would take him at his word. He must have thought out what his next move would have to be. Let’s see what that is.”
Fang-Castro nodded: “Good point.”
Fang-Castro asked Comm for a channel to the Celestial Odyssey. When Zhang came up, she said, “Admiral Zhang, we have considered your request. If your situation is as you state, we will take your crew on board. But—there is no delicate way to put this—you must understand that we are skeptical. We need to be persuaded that you are really in need of aid. Over.”
“Thank you, Admiral. I understand your doubts. In your position I would share them. I have a proposal. We exchange delegations. Two of us will come over from the Celestial Odyssey. You may send as many of your crew as you would like to our ship to inspect it. You may ask any questions you wish of the crew; half of them speak English.”
He continued, after a pause: “To ensure that this does not appear to be a useless exchange of hostages, I propose that I and my first officer come to your ship. We are willing to arrive at your ship before you send your representatives. The people you send to our vessel can be of as low rank and… frankly… expendable as you wish. Over.”
Before Fang-Castro could reply, Crow silently raised a finger and slid it across his throat. Fang-Castro said, “Excuse me one moment, Captain Zhang. I will be right back.”
When she’d closed the comm channel, Crow said, “This is extremely abnormal behavior for the Chinese. If Zhang is being honest with us, I can understand his coming over, if for no other reason than to be able to talk with you face-to-face and privately. The stakes are extremely high for him. But, he would be accompanied by their political officer, the highest-ranking party official on their ship. He’d leave the first officer in charge.”
Fang-Castro understood that, in her blood. She nodded and reopened the channeclass="underline" “Admiral, I am puzzled by something. I would expect you to be accompanied by your political officer rather than your first officer. Can you explain? Over.”
Zhang: “Ah, you have some familiarity with our protocols. The explanation, unfortunately, is extremely simple. Our political officer is dead. She died with half my crew in the antimatter explosion at the alien facility. We have barely enough personnel to operate this ship. We are running with a below-minimum complement. I’m offering to send over our two most senior command to help convince you of the gravity of our situation. Over.”