Cristopher Stasheff - Escape Velocity

“Well, how’s this?” Dar frowned. “We came in between Jupiter and Mars, heading sunward. What’s our speed?”

“We’re back up to point nine seven light-speed.”

Father Marco’s eyes lost focus. “Let’s see, that means … it’s been about five minutes for us, so for the people on Earth …”

“It’s been a few weeks,” Lona finished for him, “and if we don’t do something soon, we’re going to get punctured by a small swarm of teeny-tiny asteroids, and flattened when we run into a few big ones!”

“Asteroids!” Sam sat up straight, her eyes locking on Dar’s. “We did it once …”

“And I’ll bet the Solar Patrol aren’t much smarter than pirates!” Dar turned to Lona. “Can you match velocity with an asteroid?”

“Of course !” Lona crowed. “Kill our power, and all we are is a new asteroid with a high albedo!”

“Not even that, if you can get a big rock between us and the sun. Can we slow down that fast?”

“Can do.” Lona nodded. “It’ll take most of our power, though, and it won’t be very comfortable.”

She had a nice knack for understatement; it was hell. Not as bad as it could’ve been—at least she had the courtesy to turn the ship around so she could decelerate with the main engine, and they were plastered back into their seats instead of being slammed against their webbing—but they were rammed so far into their couches that Dar could’ve sworn he felt the hard plastic of the frame, and held his breath, waiting for the couch to either snap or spring a leak. But it held, and he began to wonder if he would. His nose felt as though it were trying to flow around both sides of his face to join his ears; his eyes tried bravely to follow their optic nerves to their sources; and after a while, it occurred to him that the reason he was holding his breath was simply that he couldn’t breathe. It was about three anvils, a barrel of horseshoes, two blacksmiths, and a Percheron sitting on his chest…

Then the pressure eased off, and swung him against the side of the hull as Lona turned. The acceleration couch slowly regurgitated him, and he found himself staring around at a cabin that perversely persisted in looking just the way it had before they passed through the hamburger press.

Then Lona flicked a finger at her console, and the lights went out.

All he could think of was that she was over there, and he was over here, still webbed in. It was such a horrible waste of a great situation.

Into the sudden darkness her voice murmured, “I’ve killed all power, so they won’t have any energy emissions to track us by. Don’t let it worry you; you can still see out the ports. And we won’t lose heat too fast; the hull’s well insulated. But the air recycler’s off, and this isn’t all that large a cabin for five people. So do the best you can not to breathe too much. Breathe lightly—sleep if you can. And don’t talk—that’s a waste of air.”

“If the power’s off, your detectors’re out,” Father Marco murmured.

“Right. We won’t know where they are, except by sight. Which doesn’t do too much good, of course—they could be far enough away to only show as a speck of light, but they could still get here in a matter of minutes.”

“So, how will we know when to turn the lights back on?” Whitey asked.

“When the air starts getting foul,” Lona answered. “When you start feeling short of breath, and drowsy.”

“But they might still be nearby then,” Dar objected.

“Life is filled with these little chances,” Lona murmured. “But let’s make it as long a wait as we can. No more talking.”

Sibilant silence descended on the cabin, filled with the rasp and wheeze of people in various states of health trying to control their breathing. After a few minutes, someone began to snore softly—Whitey, no doubt; Dar could only admire his composure. For himself, he was watching nervously out the nearest porthole, and, sure enough, there was the tiny dot of light, swelling rapidly, turning into a Patrol cruiser which shot by overhead so close that Dar had to fight the urge to duck.

“One pass,” Lona murmured.

“Gadget-lovers,” Father Marco chuckled. “They don’t trust their eyes anymore; if it isn’t on a sensor-screen, it doesn’t exist.”

“Then, pretend we don’t,” Sam hissed. “Shut up!”

The patrol cruiser slid out from the top of the vast asteroid that hid the Ray of Hope . Dar held his breath; if there were a single eye actually watching out a porthole, all he’d ever know about it would be a huge red flash that just might burn out his life before it melted his eyes. But, come to think of it, he didn’t even see any portholes, and the big ship drifted on past them and disappeared into a cluster of space junk.

Sam heaved a sigh of relief, but Lona hissed, “Belay that!”

“What?” Sam protested. “Breathing?”

“You were hoping,” Lona accused.

“What’s wrong with that?” Sam demanded, but Father Marco assured her, “It’s too soon.”

And right he was, because here came the space-shark again, drifting up so closely above them that Dar halfway expected it to ask if he was interested in life insurance. But there must have been enough nickel-iron in their friendly asteroidal neighborhood to hide the Ray of Hope ’s mettle, because the cruiser lifted its nose and rose above them, more and more quickly until it disappeared into the clutter of floating rock overhead.

A multiple sigh filled the cabin, and Whitey croaked, “Huh? Wha’sa matter? They find us? Huh? What?”

“I think they went up above the plane of the ecliptic, Grandpa,” Lona assured him.

“Hoping to get a better view of the situation—looking down at us,” Dar suggested.

“Can I hope now?” Sam squeaked.

A huge bass chime shook the cabin, and Lona hit the power key. “Only if we get out of here,” she answered Sam. “That was our first visiting neighbor; hinting we should move out of the neighborhood.”

“A little asteroid, colliding with us,” Dar explained as the lights came on and gravity sucked him back down into his seat. “It’s a wonder it’s only the first one; they could’ve knocked us to bits by now.”

“Not really,” Lona said, punching buttons. “We came in above the plane of the ecliptic, matched velocities with this asteroid, and swooped in right next to it. Most of the local pebbles are in orbit around it. That little stone that just hit us shot in from a close bypass with another big rock. It was just a matter of time before it came calling though.”

“But it won’t happen again if we’re going back above the plane of the ecliptic?”

“Are you kidding?” Lona snorted. “That Patrol boat’s up there! We’re going below , sister, so we’ll have the whole depth of the asteroid belt between us and them, to foul their sensors! Brace yourselves, everyone—this is going to be a rough ride!”

“ Nos morituri te salutamus ,” Father Marco intoned.

We who are about to die, salute thee … Dar shivered. “You could’ve thought of a cheerier blessing, Father.”

“You speak Latin ?” Father Marco cried in surprise. “What are you—a fossil?”

“No—I just got stoned at Cholly’s a lot.” Then Dar’s stomach rose as the ship sank and a huge gong reverberated through the hull.

“Nothing to worry about.” Lona’s voice was tight with strain. “It can’t really hurt us unless it’s as big as my head, and I can swerve around anything that size—I think.”

Then Whitey was pointing upward out the porthole and shouting—but the gist of his comment was lost in another huge BONG! as red lightning lit the cabin and the ship bucked like a metal bull. Over the fading chime, Dar could hear Lona cursing as she fought to stabilize the craft. The red glow faded—and left them in darkness broken only by the shards of reflected sunlight from the dancing asteroids around them. Sam shouted in panic, and everybody started talking at once.