Considering what I'd seen of the Icarus's hull back on the ground, I wasfranklysurprised we'd made it as far as we had.
Tera and Everett were standing in the corridor outside the EVA room when Iarrived, watching Jones help a vacsuited Chort run a final check on hisequipment. "Well, that didn't take long," Tera commented. "Any idea where theproblem is?"
"Probably somewhere here on the larger sphere," I said. "The computer didn'thave any ideas?"
She shook her head. "Like I said, it's old and feeble. Nothing but macrosensors, and no predictive capability at all."
"Don't worry," Chort assured us, his whistly voice oddly muted by his helmet.
"That screech didn't sound bad. Regardless, I will find and fix it."
"Someone's going to have to go into the wraparound with him, too," Jones put in.
"I checked earlier, and there aren't any of the connections or lifeline-feedsof a standard airlock."
I'd noticed that, too. "You volunteering?" I asked him.
"Of course," he said, sounding surprised that it was even a question. "EVAassist is traditionally mechanic's privilege, you know."
"I'm not concerned with tradition nearly as much as I am whether we've got asuit aboard that'll fit you," I countered. "Tera, pull the computer inventoryand see what we've got."
"I already checked," she said. "There are three suit/rebreather combos inLocker Fifteen. It didn't list sizes, though."
"I'll go look," Jones volunteered, checking one last seal on Chort's suit andsqueezing past him. "That's lower level, Tera?"
"Right," she said. "Just forward of Cabin Seven."
"Got it." Jones eased past me and headed for the aft ladder.
"So how will he handle it?" Everett asked. "Go into the wraparound and feedChort the lifeline from there?"
"Basically," I nodded. "There's a slot just outside the entryway where thesecondary line can connect, but he'll want Jones feeding him the primary lineas he goes along. Otherwise, it can get kinked or snarled on the maneuveringvents, and that eats up time."
"I've heard of snarled lines giving false readings on sensors, too," Tera putin. "He might wind up fixing a hull plate that didn't need it."
"That won't happen," Chort assured her. "I will know the damage when I reachit."
"I'm sure you will," Everett said, lumbering down the corridor toward the aftladder. "I'll see if Jones can use a hand."
There were indeed three vac suits in the locker, one of which fit Jones justfine, and with Everett's help he was suited up in fifteen minutes. Fiveminutes after that he and Chort were in the wraparound, the airlock doors at both endswere sealed, and I was on the bridge with the hull monitor cameras extended ontheir pylons.
And we were set. "Ready here," I called into the intercom. "Revs, go ahead andshut down the gravity."
"Right," Nicabar acknowledged from the engine room, and I felt the suddenstomach-twisting disorientation as the Icarus's grav generator went off-line.
I double-checked the airlock status and keyed for the suit radios. "It's allyours, Chort. Let him out easy, Jones."
Given that Jones had a Craea at the other end of his line, my automaticwarningwas probably both unnecessary and even a bit ridiculous. Before the outerhatch was even all the way open Chort was out on the hull, pausing briefly to snaphis secondary line into the connector slot and heading nimbly across thewraparound, using his hull-hooks and stickypads as if he'd been born in zero gee.
"Mind if I watch?" a voice asked from the doorway behind me.
I turned my head. Shawn was floating just outside the door, gazing past me atthe monitors, an intense but oddly calm look on his face. "No, come on in," Iinvited.
"Thanks," he said, maneuvering his way into the room and coming to a stophovering beside my chair. "There aren't any monitors in the electronics shop, and I've never seen a Craea spacewalk before."
"It's definitely a sight to behold," I agreed, trying not to frown as Istudied his profile. The twitchy, nervous, sarcastic kid who'd been such a pain in theneck while we were waiting outside the Icarus had apparently been kidnappedsometime in the last six hours and replaced by this near-perfect copy. "Howare you doing?"
He smiled, a little shamefacedly. "You mean how come I'm not acting like ajerk?"
"Not exactly the way I would have put it," I said. "But as long as you bringit up...?"
"Yeah, I know," he said, his lip twisting. "That's another reason I wanted totalk to you, to apologize for all that. I was... well, nervous, I guess. Youhave to admit this is a really strange situation, and I don't do well withstrange situations. Especially early in the morning."
"I have trouble with mornings sometimes myself," I said, turning back to themonitors. "Don't worry about it."
"Thanks. He's really good, isn't he?"
I nodded. Chort was moving slowly along the edge of the cowling that coveredthe intersection of the two spheres, his faceplate bare centimeters above the hullas he glided over the surface. Here and there he would stop for a moment, touching something with his long fingers and occasionally selecting one of thesqueeze tubes from the collection clamped to his forearms. I thought aboutgetting on the radio and asking what he was doing, but decided against it. Heclearly knew his business, and there didn't seem any point in distracting himwith a lot of questions. I made a mental note to pick up a set of zoomablehull cameras at our next stop.
The whistle from the radio speaker was so unexpected that Shawn and I bothjumped, a movement that the zero gee magnified embarrassingly. "There it is,"
Chort said as I grabbed my restraint straps and pulled myself firmly down intothe chair again. "A small pressure ridge only. Easily repaired."
He set to work with his squeeze tubes again. "I'll never understand about thatstuff," Shawn commented. "If it's so good at fixing hull cracks and ridges, whynot coat the whole hull with it?"
"Good question," I agreed, throwing him another surreptitious glance. Calm, friendly, and now even making intelligent conversation. I made another mentalnote, this one to restrict all my future interactions with him until afterhe'd had his morning coffee or whatever.
If Chort was a representative example of Craean spacewalking ability, it wasno wonder they were so much in demand. In less than ten minutes he'd sealed theridge, tracked two jaglines radiating from that spot, and fixed them as well.
"All secure," he announced. "I will check the rest of the sphere, but Ibelieve this is the only problem."
"Sounds good," I said. "Before you go any farther forward, you might as wellgoaft and run a quick check on the cargo and engine sections."
"Acknowledged," Chort said, turning around and heading back over the side of the cargo sphere. He paused once, moved down the side toward the wraparound—
And suddenly, with another stomach-wrenching disorientation, I fell down hardinto my chair.
Shawn yelped in surprise and pain as he dropped like a rock to the deck besideme. But I hardly noticed. Incredibly, impossibly, the Icarus's gravity fieldhad gone back on.
And as I watched in helpless horror, Chort slammed against the side of thecargosphere, caromed off the wraparound, and disappeared off the monitor screen.
"Revs!" I barked toward the intercom, twisting the camera control hard over.
"Turn it off!"
"I didn't turn it on," he protested.
"I don't give a damn who turned it on!" I snarled. I had Chort on the screennow, hanging limply like a puppet on a string at the end of his secondary lineat the bottom of the artificial "down" the Icarus's gravity generator hadimposed on this small bubble of space. "Just shut it down."