“My boys and I are going to station ourselves at the main spinlock and the other locks, Commander,” Caffrey stated. “Just a precaution. The main entry points to the ship shouldn’t be left unguarded.”
“Good idea,” Jameson responded. “Have you consulted with Tu Jue-chen?”
“Yeah, we settled the procedure. I’m taking three members of her Struggle Brigade with me.”
Jameson looked past Caffrey’s shoulder and saw the three husky young Chinese crewmen standing there. They all wore homemade Struggle badges pinned to their singlets: cardboard disks painted with the current slogans. One of them had gone so far as to transform himself into a walking poster, with the Chinese characters for ching hsing—“vigilance”—in red paint on his forehead. All three of them carried steel bars.
“Ray?” Jameson said uneasily. “We don’t know that those creatures are hostile. We can’t afford to get off on the wrong foot with them.”
“Do you think I’m crazy?” Caffrey said. “I’ll keep these fellows in hand.”
“It’s good to see that ship’s security is keeping the ship secure instead of protecting us from the exchange of scientific information,” Ruiz said dryly.
Caffrey turned reproachful eyes on Ruiz. “Doctor,” he said, sounding genuinely hurt.
Jameson watched the four of them shoulder their way through the crowd. They were met at the exit by Caffrey’s three beetle-browed assistants, who also carried steel bars.
“God help us all” Ruiz said. “Slogans and steel bars. What a way for two intelligent races to meet for the first time.”
“I don’t think Boyle will let any Cygnans inside, anyway,” Jameson said. “Germs. We’ll send a delegation outside to meet them. Let Caffrey guard the locks. It’ll keep him out of mischief.”
Ruiz looked thoughtful “What if—”
“Excuse me, Doctor,” Jameson said. He looked up at the balcony. Boyle was making urgent motions toward him. Jameson found a guide line and zipped up to his post. Kay Thorwald, looking worried, was sitting at a communications console while Captain Hsieh hovered over her.
“I can’t get anyone in Major Hollis’s territory to answer, Captain,” she said.
“Have Jarowski try to patch you through to his suit radio,” Boyle said through clenched teeth.
“What’s wrong, Captain?” Jameson said.
“Look,” Boyle said.
Jameson went over to the safety rail and looked down. With the drive on, even at one percent of g, there was the illusion of looking out of a very tall tower down toward the ballerina skirt of the ring. It was still spinning; they hadn’t bothered to stop it for the braking maneuver.
Jameson found Hollis’s pod as it swept by on its merry-go-round circuit. It was a plastic cocoon riding the inside of the wheel. Then he saw what Boyle was pointing at.
Hollis’s bomb squad, silvery ants in their spacesuits, were pouring out of the pod and assembling in a small group on the inner rim of the wheel. They were all sticking close to the safety railings. They were standing at right angles to Jameson’s point of view, and he knew that they, unlike he and the people on the bridge, had two thirds of their Earth weight.
The wheel swung them out of sight. When they came back into view thirty seconds later, they were marching in military formation toward the nearest spoke.
“What are they doing?” Jameson said.
“They’re going to fire their nukes,” Boyle said.
“Captain Boyle,” Hsieh said in a strangled voice. “I must insist that you put a stop to this unilateral action. The bomb crews are to work in concert. We have not yet reached a joint decision.”
“I’ll do my best,” Boyle said.
“Captain,” Kay said. “I’ve got him.”
“Hollis, can you hear me?” Boyle called into Kay’s mike.
Hollis’s voice came, out of the little speaker on the console. “I can hear you, Captain. Make it quick.”
“I order you and your men to return to quarters immediately.”
“This is a military action, Captain. You have no jurisdiction.”
“Hollis, are you crazy? You don’t have the authority to commit the entire human race to a war with another civilization.”
“I have my contingency orders from Earth, Captain. I’m interpreting them as I see fit.”
“Hollis listen to me—”
Hollis’s tight, rasping voice issued from the speaker. To Jameson it sounded somehow sleepy. “I’m locked in on all five of the alien ships,” he said “The computer techs transferred the information from the observatory computer this morning. But first I’m going to set off a couple of gigaton bombs in the middle of that cluster coming toward us. It’s only a few hundred miles across; I can drench them with enough hard radiation to cook them all. Have to eyeball it and set off the bombs by radio signal.”
Jameson snatched the microphone from Boyle. “Listen, Major, you don’t understand the situation. Those scooters are traveling at over a hundred kilometers a second at this point, and decelerating. You can’t eyeball it. If you’re off by a couple of seconds, your missiles will pass right through them or else go off too soon. All you can do is make them mad.”
“That’s enough talk,” Hollis said, and switched off.
Boyle grabbed the mike back and shouted, “Major Hollis!” but the speaker was dead.
“He’s going to get his men into trouble, Captain,” Jameson said. “They aren’t proficient enough yet to—”
“Look!” Kay said in a strained voice.
The last ant in the column had fallen behind and was hurrying to catch up. He must have gotten careless, or been disoriented by the star-encrusted void whirling past him, because he lost his footing and stumbled backward. Top-heavy in his gear, he toppled over the low safety rail.
The wheel hurled him out into the dark. The wriggling silver figure shrank until it was gone. There had been a sudden rush to save him, and now Hollis’s men milled about aimlessly.
“Captain, can you stop the wheel?” Jameson asked.
Boyle looked at him steadily. “No,” he said.
Hollis must have been giving orders. The confused movement of the men stopped all at once, and they all began marching again toward the base of the spoke.
They climbed the outside handles painfully, all of them being very careful now. Two thirds of the way toward the hub, they all stopped. Hollis was giving orders again. Suit jets misting, they floated at an angle toward the missile pods on the shaft. Hollis had had them do it a hundred times before when the ship was coasting, saving time by lifting off the spoke at the point where centripetal force dropped off enough.
“He just killed his men,” Jameson said, between clenched teeth.
The difference in velocity was infinitesimal—less than ten centimeters per second per second. But, it added up. It took Hollis and his men twenty seconds to realize that an invisible rubber band was dragging them back to the plane of the wheel. Another twenty seconds and they were there—but their starting point wasn’t… The spoke swept by, tantalizingly out of reach, while they dropped past the waist of the ship at forty, then fifty and sixty centimeters per second.
Jameson’s knuckles were white on the rail. “The damned bungling Earthlubber!” he said. “Didn’t he realize he couldn’t do that trick when the ship was braking?”
Only a minute had gone by. Even then, some of them might have saved themselves, but they wasted precious seconds trying to catch up to the radiating spokes of the wheel. Only one of them had the sense to aim at an efficient right angle straight toward the giant shaft that was slipping by. He caught a handhold just forward of the flaring skirt and immediately began to crawl forward, away from stray drive radiation.
The rest of them, in a panic to escape the hellish beam of the exhaust, scattered sideways. The ship plunged past them, faster with each second. They were being left behind—or, more properly, were outracing the ship, keeping their initial velocity while the ship continued to decelerate.