John Sandford - Saturn Run

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 channel: “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.”

“Thank you for that information and my sincere condolences on your losses. I’ll get back to you as quickly as possible. Over and out.”

Crow shook his head: “I don’t see how we can refuse.”

“A suicide mission?” Francisco suggested.

“I don’t believe it,” Fang-Castro said. “But we could insist on a scan before they board us.”

Crow said, “That would also define the relationship. We’re not just being friendly.”

Fang-Castro: “Unless somebody has a better suggestion, I would assign Sandy Darlington to go over, with his cameras, so we can see in real time what he’s seeing. He can take direction from Martinez and Greenberg, and if they kill him, we still get back, because he’s not critical to our operations. And you, Mr. Crow. Since you speak Mandarin, you might overhear something—”

“And if they kill me, you still get back,” Crow said, with a grin. “That works for me.”

Francisco nodded in agreement.

Fang-Castro reopened a channel to the Chinese captain.

The extensive and unrestricted videography was acceptable to Zhang. He was eager to proceed; he reminded Fang-Castro that unless she decided to order the Nixon ’s engines shut down, their two ships would start to separate in less than half a day and rescue operations would become increasingly difficult, maybe even infeasible.

“I will order the engine thrust reduced, which will allow the radiators to continue operating,” she said. “They’re a little touchy, and we don’t want a cold restart. My first officer will speak to yours, about the details of the rendezvous.”

Just past midnight, Nixon time, transports left the Chinese and American ships. Fang-Castro had decided that requiring Zhang to come on board first was perhaps insulting. And she didn’t see much risk in a simultaneous exchange.

Sandy said to Crow, who was driving the bus, “I hope she’s right. I got this funny feeling between my shoulder blades.”

“Could be shingles,” Crow said.

“Or possibly a sniper.”

“You take your stims?” Crow asked.

“Does a chicken have lips?”

Crow considered, then said, “I don’t know what that means. It could go either way.”

“Yeah, I took the stims. But fear alone would keep me awake.”

As the Nixon ’s bus passed the Chinese runabout, Sandy waved at the space-suited figures strapped to the framework of their craft. It was similar in concept to the Nixon ’s eggs, but meant to carry more than one person outside the Celestial Odyssey . Rather than working from inside, as with an egg, the Chinese craft would ferry several space-suited workers to any point on the ship, and then release them to work as individuals. One of the space-suited figures waved back. The larger one, he thought.

Crow nudged him. “When we get there, don’t say anything unless spoken to, and keep your replies as short as possible. I want you to be the silent guy with the camera. Don’t volunteer anything. Don’t ask any questions. That’s my job.”

“Got it. Sir. General. Field Marshal.”

The Nixon , with its near-kilometer-long radiators and three-hundred-meter main axle, was larger than the Odyssey , but it was like a box kite made of balsa wood and string, long thin columns and beams tied together with graphene guy wire. The Chinese ship was only two-thirds the size of the Nixon , but it looked like a tank.

As they approached the massive deep space transport, Sandy panned his cameras over the surface of the Chinese ship, and Crow muttered, “Holy cow. Look at that. Get that.”

“I’m getting it.”

They were stunned by the damage. There were fused and torn moorings where, presumably, there had been external hydrogen tanks. There were none of those now. The hull was scarred and gouged where pieces of the disintegrating tanks must have slammed into the ship. It was obvious that the Chinese crew had patched things together rapidly and, so far, functionally, but there was no attempt to clean it up. Rough welds, overlapping plates, mismatched joints.

Crow said, “You can have it fast or you can have it right.” The Chinese had been under time pressures that precluded “right.”

“Can’t believe they didn’t breach,” Sandy muttered.

Crow: “The Chinese know how to build a hull. If that had happened to us…”

They’d all be dead.