“That’s what I was afraid you’d say. How’s your supply situation?”
“We took care of that. Friday Indigo gets by eating native flora or fauna, but we didn’t like the look of the stuff. We raided the camp supply case and brought enough food and drink to last for weeks.”
“Good. Now listen closely, because we don’t have much more time. The Mallies could be homing in on both of us.”
He spoke fast for two minutes.
“Got it,” Chrissie said cheerfully when he was finished. “Go do your thing, right now. Tarb and I will cross our fingers.”
“So will we. For you. Oh, and keep your eyes open for Vow-of-Silence. I don’t have time to tell you what happened to her, but she’s running loose along with Eager Seeker.”
“We saw a few Tinker components here and there in the bushes, but no sign of a Composite. We’ll be on the lookout. Scruffy is still missing, too, and I’ll never persuade Tarbush to go without her. Don’t worry about us. We’ll manage. Ready to close?”
“Closing.”
Chan went at once to the top of the ridge and scanned the horizon in the direction of the Malacostracan encampment. The sky was clear. No angry swarm of trifoliate aircraft was heading his way, but that might change any second.
He hurried back to the Mood Indigo. The hatch was closed, but Tully opened it at the first knock.
“Saw you hurrying, had us worrying,” he said. “Come in.”
“How was the pressurization test?”
“The ship’s all right, good and tight. We can fly.”
The Mood Indigo had been designed for a crew of three, and the flight deck was crowded with seven humans and an Angel. Bony had gone a step beyond Chan’s order, and posted lookouts at each of the three ports. “You said to watch for anything coming from the Mallies’ field,” he said, as Chan joined him at the control console. Elke Siry was already in the copilot chair. “But I thought we ought to know about anything that flies, no matter what direction it comes from.”
He stood up. “Here. You and Elke can handle the ship better than me. There’s a few hundred things I’d like to check before we take off.”
“Tully said we are ready to fly.”
“I told him that so he wouldn’t fiddle with equipment he doesn’t understand. I feel sure we can go up if we have to. But I need another hour before I’m convinced that we can stay there.”
Bony headed for the lower levels, down to the engine room of the Mood Indigo. Chan sat down and reviewed the status panel. It was a mass of red flashing lights. Every external antenna had been swept away. Most of the imaging sensors were out of action, leaving the ship partially blind. One of the seven main engines was clogged, probably with silt, and another contained a hairline crack in its fuel feed. Neither could be used without danger of an explosion. The ship’s profile had been deformed by structural changes to one of the airlocks. Two stabilizer fins were bent, and a third had been ripped off. Atmospheric flight, if it happened at all, would be a combination of computer thrust balance and human seat-of-the-pants improvisation.
In summary, the Mood Indigo was a mess. Bony had primed the five undamaged engines, but the whole ship needed a major overhaul. Back in the solar system it would have been declared a total loss.
Chan was calling for a more detailed summary of engine balance problems when Liddy, over to his left, said quietly, “Something took off. A big something.”
Chan glanced instinctively to the displays. He cursed to himself as he realized that the ones he needed were all out of action. He stood up and moved quickly to Liddy’s side. A Malacostracan vessel — one of the two big ones, labeled by Dag Korin as mother ships — floated in the sky to the northwest.
He asked Liddy, “Is it coming this way?”
“I don’t think so.” She was tracking the ship closely, using her hand on the glass of the port to measure relative motion. “If it keeps going the way it started, it will pass well north of us. I think it’s heading west.”
“To sea,” Chan said. “Toward the Link.” He hurried back to the controls. One of the imaging sensors in the seaward direction was still working. It showed a flickering yellow glow on the horizon. “Bony?”
“Here.”
“We don’t have an hour. Stop whatever you’re doing. We’re lifting off. Now.”
“Three more minutes—”
“ NOW!Everybody, brace for takeoff.”
Chan applied power to the five working engines. He did it gingerly, aware that they were not balanced, and he flinched at the creak and groan of the flexing hull. The ship had not been designed to fly with lopsided thrust. It was vibrating all over — and they had not left the ground.
All or nothing. “Hold tight!” Chan stopped breathing and went to three-quarter power. The Mood Indigo lifted, tilted, and began to swoop sideways. The computer caught the imbalance with its inertial guidance system and applied the correction in milliseconds. The ship wobbled, straightened, and lifted again. Chan applied lateral thrust. He had to take them west, toward the sea. They must parallel the course of the Malacostracan ship, then angle in toward it once it was well away from land.
How close dare he come? Too far, and they might miss the opportunity. Too close, and they would be noticed.
“Another Mallie ship.” Danny Casement was stationed at another port, facing east. “One of the smaller ones. It’s coming this way.”
Another decision had been made for Chan. He increased power again. The Mood Indigo groaned, shivered, and went racing west.
“Elke?”
“Ready.” She sat poised over the copilot controls. “I’ve already entered the sequence. Say when.”
The big Malacostracan ship showed as a fleck of light in the imaging sensor. It was moving faster, beyond the shoreline now and skimming along just a couple of hundred meters above the glittering surface. Beyond it, maybe five kilometers away, the line that separated sea and sky was starting to blur and deform into a fuzzy-edged disk.
“Link opening,” Elke said in a shaky voice. “Sequence complete. Your action.”
Chan accelerated, narrowing the distance between the Mood Indigo and the Malacostracan ship. Timing was the key. What happened if you tried to pass through a Link that was still forming, or beginning to close? No human or Stellar Group member had ever done such a thing. Or better say, no one had done it and survived to talk about it.
The disk ahead formed an exact semicircle on the surface of the sea. The Malacostracan ship was racing toward its geometrical center. The Mood Indigo was close enough for Chan to make out pincer-like grapples on the tri-lobed hull.
“The ship behind is closing on us,” Danny said in a neutral voice. “It’s also changing profile. I don’t like the look of it. I suggest that this might be a very good time to hurry.”
“Completing transfer sequence,” Chan said. Too soon? But he had no choice. And the Malacostracan ship ahead was arrowing into the glowing heart of the circle. At the moment of entry the Link flared and dissolved into fringes of multicolored light.
The Mood Indigo plunged forward into the swirl of the rainbow. Chan felt the first hint of a familiar but always-unfamiliar moment of nausea and vertigo. His body turned inside out, turned upside down, inverted to become its own mirror image.
The ship was beginning its Link transfer. Chan and his team were escaping their pursuers, departing Limbo, leaving this universe. And they would come out — where?
In the final moment, a new form of energy swept through the Mood Indigo. The control board in front of Chan went dark. The lights went out. Blind and dead , he thought. We’re dead and blind. The crippled ship vanished into the multiverse.