She cocked an eyebrow. “I’m listening,” she invited.
Chapter 21
The rein lines were softly glowing strands brushing across the lander’s ports, impossible to focus on even at such close range. Ferrol’s eyes stubbornly tried to do so anyway, even as the rest of his body braced for the wrenching jolt that would mean Quentin had lost control and panicked. But the surge the Tampies had more or less predicted didn’t come… and eventually Roman’s confirmation did. “All set, lander,” he said. “Web boats are coming back in now. We’ll keep firing the comm laser until they’re back in the hangar—the longer we keep the vultures distracted, the better chance we’ve got. Presumably.”
Ferrol clamped his teeth against the retort that wanted to come out. Roman had been noticeably less than enthusiastic about the plan—not, Ferrol suspected, because of any flaw the other could see in it, but simply because all the Tampies seemed likewise quietly opposed. Not for any reason they were willing to put into words, either, but for Tampies broad hints of vague uncertainties always seemed to be enough.
“We’re drifting a little,” Kennedy said into his thoughts.
With an effort, Ferrol shook the resentment from his mind. This was no time to let himself be distracted by Tampy coyness. “Ppla-zu, Quentin needs to ease a little to port,” he called to the Tampy behind them.
“Your… wish is mine.”
Ferrol threw a quick look over his shoulder at their replacement Handler, who’d taken up position between Demothi and a sleep-humming Wwis-khaa. He immediately wished he hadn’t; the Tampy’s face was twisted into a painful-looking expression Ferrol wouldn’t have thought even such lopsided features capable of.
“Ppla-zu? What’s the problem?”
“Quentinninni is… troubled,” the Tampy said thickly.
Ferrol glanced at Kennedy. “How troubled?” he demanded.
Ppla-zu tried twice before any words came out. “He… will endure… as necessary.”
“We’d better get this thing off the ground, and fast,” Kennedy murmured.
Ferrol nodded and turned back to his console. Maybe the Tampies’ worries hadn’t been totally unfounded after all. “Lander to Amity: better scorch with those boats, Captain.”
“How’s Quentin doing?” Roman asked.
“Ppla-zu says it’s troubled,” Ferrol told him. “Whatever the hell that means.”
“Probably just what it says: trouble. Especially since Bbri-hwoo’s telling me the same about Man o’ War.” Roman paused. “All right, web boats’ ETA for the hangar is two minutes. Let’s go ahead and get started—they’ll be in before we’re ready.”
“Right.” Ferrol leaned forward to peer out the viewport. Ahead and to their left, paralleling Quentin barely a hundred meters away, Man o’ War was a ghostly graywhite wall in the light of the distant sun. “You heard the captain, Ppla-zu,” he called. “Let’s do it.”
“Your wish is… mine.”
Ferrol settled into his seat and keyed for a tactical display. Twenty-eight kilometers ahead, the two optical nets were a pair of blobs sitting next to each other, each exactly in front of its chosen space horse. “Quentin’s starting to rotate,” Kennedy reported.
“Confirmed,” Roman said. “The vultures are matching it.”
Ferrol nodded silently. Reacting to the calfs slow rotation, they were indeed moving, sliding over toward the group that was blocking Man o’ War’s Jump vision. Just a little further…
“Mark!” Kennedy called. “Okay, Ppla-zu: ease it back again.”
Ferrol held his breath… and as Quentin rotated away from Man o’ War, its attending vultures also reversed their motion.
Damn. “We’re going to have to move Quentin closer in.”
“I’m afraid you’re right,” Roman agreed reluctantly. “I don’t know, though. Rrinsaa?”
“It is dangerous,” the Tampy’s voice came faintly. “Manawanninni already shows signs of stress.”
“What kind of stress is getting eaten going to give it?” Ferrol retorted.
“That’s enough, Commander,” Roman said sharply. “Escaping the shark at the cost of losing all control of Man o’ War isn’t going to gain us much.”
Ferrol ground his teeth. “Captain, with all due respect—”
“Ffe-rho is right,” Rrin-saa put in. “For Manawanninni’s sake, as well as that of ourselves, we must try.”
“Not to mention all the helpless test mice in the lab,” Ferrol muttered under his breath. “Ppla-zu? Let’s go—move us another twenty-five meters or so toward Man o’ War.”
It took nearly five minutes for the calf to be coaxed in that close… and in the end all of Ppla-zu‘s work proved to have been for nothing. Again, the vultures had no problem keeping optical nets in front of both space horses.
“But we’re on the right track,” Kennedy pointed out. “The vultures were measurably slower this time in their reaction to Quentin’s movement.”
“For all the good that does us,” Ferrol growled. “We’re at the end of the line here—we’re never going to get them any closer together.” He could feel his face warming with anger and frustration. It had seemed like such a good idea—
“Let’s not be quite so hasty to give up,” Roman admonished him thoughtfully.
“Agreed, if the vultures can still resolve two side-by-side space horses at this separation, it’s almost certainly a waste of time to try and push them any closer.
But then, maybe side-by-side isn’t really our best approach, anyway.”
Ferrol frowned. “What, you mean fore-and-aft?”
“Exactly. We’ll send another, longer rein line out to you, cut the one that’s tethering you to Man o’ War at the moment, and have Quentin slide into line directly behind us.”
Ferrol looked sharply at Kennedy, got a similarly sharp look in response. “Captain, even with Quentin in front to shield us, Amity’s drive hasn’t had nearly enough time to cool down.”
“No, of course not,” Roman agreed. “Once the rein line’s in place and we’ve got it rigged to an amplifier helmet in here, you’ll cut loose from Quentin and bring the lander in. If we can get Quentin right in line with Man o’ War, we may just be able to fool the vultures into thinking there’s only one—”
“Captain!” Marlowe’s voice interrupted. “Shark’s on the move again. Heading toward us on an intercept course at—good God, it’s pulling almost eight gees.”
Kennedy swore quietly, her fingers skating over her console. “Must have finally figured out what we’re doing,” she said grimly. “ETA… Captain, there’s not going to be nearly enough time to send the web boats out again.”
Ferrol looked at the tactical, did a quick calculation of his own. She was right…
and it left them with exactly one option. “We’ll have to swing back in line with you from here,” he told Roman. “Squeeze ourselves and Quentin in between Man o’
War and Amity.”
“It won’t work,” Roman said, with a promptness that showed he’d already anticipated that suggestion. “The way your line is tethered, you’d wind up bringing Quentin another twenty meters or so closer to Man o’ War. You’ll never push the calf in that close.”
“We won’t have to,” Ferrol said, his eyes tracing the lines on the tethering schematic. The angles, and fulcrum points… “All we need is for you to give Man o’ War a kick forward. That should make us fall back to the end of the tether and swing right into position.”
“Only if Quentin doesn’t panic,” Roman said.
“Have we got another choice?” Ferrol countered.
“Not really,” the other agreed tightly. “Rrin-saa?—you heard. Tell Bbri-hwoo to give Man o’ War a nudge.”
For a moment, nothing. Then, as Ferrol stared at Man o’ War’s bulk, he saw it begin to move. “Here we go,” he murmured.
“Tether line tightening,” Kennedy reported. “Man o’ War’s staring to pull away and ahead.”
A slight tremor went through the lander, and Ferrol braced himself. But Quentin didn’t bolt; and a minute later the calf and lander had swung neatly into place inside the kilometer-long gap between Man o’ War and Amity.
Ferrol let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Amity? We’re blocked back here—what’s happening with the vultures?”