Jack McDevitt - Firebird

So she would have tried to get him off with the second group. Though she sensed he would not leave until the women were clear.

Suddenly the lights came back on.

The stars reappeared, hazy at first. They brightened and became sharp dazzling points of light scattered through the darkness. My God. She was getting a miracle. Still hanging on to the hatch, she turned and looked behind her, searching the night for the McCandless.

She saw the Veiled Lady, which had been behind it. But no ship.

“Melissa, where are you?”

Save for the stars, the sky was empty.

“Chase?”

Keep calm. She checked the time. It had been only nine minutes since they had all gone down the transdimensional drain. Something other than the stars was putting out a lot of light. But the glow was coming from the other side of the Intrepide. She let go of the hatch and rose above the hull. A long, sleek, brightly illuminated vehicle was approaching. It wore the silver and azure colors of the Confederacy. The Fleet was here. Thank God.

She screamed with delight, and waved at the ship.

One set of navigation lights blinked on and off. We see you.

She went back to the airlock, and they all must have understood, because they waved their arms, and Rowena burst into tears.

The visitor became visible. It had angled around and was approaching from the rear. Michelle grabbed hold of the cable and launched herself into a kind of improvised floating dance.

Lisa jumped up, hit her helmet against the overhead, and bounced. But she was still laughing, and her lips carried the message: “Magnifique!”

You said it, baby.

“Melissa,” Dot said, “we've got help. Where are you?”

The visitor was lit up like a summer carnival. It came alongside and took up a position where, a few minutes ago, the McCandless had been stationed. She could almost have reached out and touched it.

“Melissa, answer up, please. Are you there?”

Then, finally, a voice: “Relax, Ms. Garber. You are Dot Garber, right?”

“Yes, it's me.” Oh, Lord, is it ever. She could barely restrain a scream. “Where's the McCandless?”

“Janet,” said the voice. “We've got her.”

She heard applause.

More lights went on, around the main hatch.

“Everything's under control, M5. Garber. Just give us a couple of minutes. We'd like you and the other people to clear the airlock. You can go back inside, if you like. But just clear the area, please.”

The hatch opened, and a transparent tube extended out into the vacuum.

Dot signaled for everyone to grab hold of the cable. Then they stepped out into the void.

The tube crossed the space between the ships and fastened onto the Intrepide's open airlock.

Several people, four, it looked like, in dark blue uniforms filed into the tube and started across. A couple of them looked toward the drifting women and waved. A minute later, they'd disappeared into the Intrepide.

“Hello,” Dot said. “This is Garber. Who are you guys?”

“Ms. Garber, this is CVY1411. Do you need assistance?”

“Only to get out of here.”

“How's your air supply?”

“We're in good shape. There are four of us.”

“Okay. We see you. There's a cargo hatch off to your left. It's opening now. Or it will be in just a minute. Can you get in on your own? Or do you require assistance?”

She looked at the three women. They were still celebrating. “Negative,” she said. “We can manage.”

“Very good. Come in through cargo. There'll be a blinking light. They'll be expecting you. And yell if you need anything.”

“Fourteen-eleven, I hate to ask this-”

“Go ahead, Ms. Garber. What's your problem?”

“What's the date?”

“Rimway calendar?”

“Yes.”

“It's 1501.”

She froze. Sixty-seven years. Somewhere, deep inside, she'd known that was what they would say, but she still couldn't accept it. Not really. She'd just come out here a few minutes ago.

There was more movement in the tube. More uniformed rescuers crossing into the Intrepide. Then a surge of people coming back. Filing into the Fleet vessel. Her vision blurred while she watched, and it had gotten hard to breathe. She told herself to calm down. She was okay. That was the critical part. Everybody was going to survive. If it was really true that almost seventy years had passed since she'd come out here, she'd deal with it.

Her head was spinning. Dot had always prided herself on being tough. On being able to make the hard decisions, and to live with the results. But this was too much.

A wave of darkness closed in.

She woke in the arms of a guy in a pressure suit. He was telling her to relax, nothing to worry about, he'd take care of everything. They were still outside, moving along the hull, past large black numbers, a four and a couple of ones. “Thanks,” she said. “I'm sorry I gave you so much trouble.”

“No trouble, Ms. Garber. Glad to help.”

“Where are-?”

“They're fine. Everybody's okay.”

Her rescuer identified himself as Emil Crider. He wore standard Fleet issue: Assuming rank insignia hadn't changed, he was a young lieutenant, solid, efficient, reassuring. Emil warned her about the gravity, and brought her in through the cargo doors. Lisa and Michelle were already there. They looked a bit lost. Several of the rescuers were with them. Rowena was led in moments later. She waved. And provoked another round of cheers.

Dot's weight flowed back. Emil closed the doors and started the pressurization process. They were in a storage area, filled with cabinets and casings and assorted electronic gear.

“When the green light comes on, Ms. Garber,” he said, “don't remove your suit or helmet. We'll be running a check before you get out of it.”

“Call me Dot” she said. “Why the medical check, Emil? I was only out there a few minutes.”

“Really?” He gave her a broad smile. “There's no problem, but we want to make sure your immune system isn't out of touch. And, where you're concerned, ours might be, too. Bear with us. It won't take long.”

Eventually, a row of green lamps, strung along the overhead, blinked on. Emil got out of his gear and looked back at her. He was average size, young, good-looking, sandy hair, sea blue eyes. A door opened, and several others came into the area. One of the newcomers knelt beside her. “Dr. Gibson, Dot,” he said. “How do you feel?”

“I'm okay.”

“Can you stand?”

Gravity was still at about one-third. Standard level in the void. “Yes, Doctor.” She started to get up. Emil made a move to help her, but Gibson waved him back.

“Still okay?” Gibson asked when she'd gotten to her feet.

“I'm good.”

The others were going through the same routine.

When they were all ready, they were led down a short passageway and up two decks. There they were separated, and Dot was taken into a room that looked like an infirmary. Except that it appeared to be airtight. A table supported some electronic equipment. A single chair had been placed at the table. “Okay, Dot,” the doctor said. “I'll be right over there.” He indicated an observation area behind a plate of glass. “Wait until I tell you. Then take off the suit, sit down, and wait for instructions. Okay?”

“Okay, Doctor.”

He went outside and pulled the door shut behind him. “All right. You can get out of that thing now.”

She removed the helmet and climbed out of the suit. Then she sat.

Dr. Gibson appeared in the observation area, joined by Emil. “Ms. Garber,” Gibson said, “you'll notice a cap on the device in front of you. I'd like you to remove the cap and breathe into the tube.”

About twenty of the Intrepide passengers were gathered in the mess hall, where sandwiches, fruit, and donuts had been laid out. More filed in every few minutes. Others connected with the rescue vessel-though only two wore Fleet uniforms-were wandering among the growing crowd, reassuring them, and apparently speaking to them in their own language. That surprised Dot since the information she'd had indicated we knew what the written language looked like but nobody knew what it sounded like. Then she remembered Cori and Sabol.