Джек Макдевитт - Chindi

“Does that,” he continued, “include funeral expenses?”

Hutch resisted the temptation to point out she had just the man on board the Memphis.

Yurkiewicz looked at her skeptically. Like Matt Brawley he was an independent, hired because he was available and in the right place at the right time. “You have the authority to speak for the Academy?”

Did she? Not likely. “Of course,” she said. “I’ll put it in writing if you like.”

He considered it. “Yes,” he said. “That might be a good idea.”

“Meantime, we need to get this show on the road. I don’t need to remind you gentlemen that time is of the essence.”

Brownstein informed her he was already warming up his engines.

“Come to think of it,” said Yurkiewicz, “there might be a problem. The Professor and his people are at the Retreat. I can’t leave them there.”

“Take him with you,” said Hutch.

“You haven’t seen him there yet. I don’t think he’s going to want to leave.”

“Tell him it’s his chance to see the chindi up close. Maybe the only one he’s going to get.”

“I HAVE A likely candidate,” said Bill. “It’s not ideal. There’s a bit more mass than we would wish, but it has the advantage of being nearby.”

“We can make it work, then?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe? Why maybe? What’s the hitch?”

“In theory, it should be fine. But I’m not aware that the theory has been tested.”

But that wasn’t the problem, and they both knew it. “What else?”

“I have no way to measure the precise mass of the rock. I need that information to calculate the velocity at which we should enter the sack, and the time we will spend there. Those factors will determine the ship’s velocity on reemergence into sublight space.”

“Can’t you make an estimate based on fuel expenditure when we begin to accelerate the thing?”

“Yes. But keep in mind that three ships are involved, and the method, even with one, is not precise. A small inexactitude can bring us out at a velocity that will lead to serious consequences.”

“Okay. We’ll just have to do the best we can. Forward the coordinates to the other ships, and let’s get over there.” She got on the allcom and informed her passengers they were moving out. “One hour twelve minutes to destination,” she said.

She sent a message to the Academy, personal to Virgil, detailing precisely what she was going to do and explaining the position the ships were going to be in afterward. “We’ll need substantial help,” she said, “and we’ll need it as quickly as you can get it out here to us.” She then detailed the method the Academy would have to use to recover the ships and the people. Sylvia wasn’t going to like it very much, but she’d like losing another member of the Contact Society even less.

Next she would need cable. Superluminals always carried a fair amount of spare cable, which was used primarily to secure cargo and supplies in flight. Some of the Memphis’s supply, however, had gone over to the chindi. The Longworth, though, should have plenty.

“Will it be strong enough?” she asked Bill.

“I’ll give you a design for the web,” he said. “If you put it together properly, the web should be reasonably strong. We will be able to accelerate within acceptable limits.”

The AI supplied detailed images of the asteroid. It was long, misshapen, swollen at either end, a dogbone. The surface was choppy and broken, slashed by ridges, pounded by rocks.

Dogbone was smaller than the Memphis, but it was five times as massive. It was tumbling slowly, moving in an orbit that would circle the central luminary every fifty thousand years or so.

They went down to the cargo bay, spread out Bill’s plans, collected the cable, and began putting it together. While they were in the middle of the effort, Mogambo came on the circuit, asking to speak with her. Very important. Was she alone?

Hutch withdrew to a workroom.

“I’m delighted to hear that you’ve come up with a way to rescue your man,” he said. “Delighted. Very ingenious.”

“Thank you.”

“I should have thought of it myself.”

I’m sure you will, Professor. “What can I do for you, sir?”

“I want to go on board the chindi.”

“I’m sure that’ll become possible in time.”

“No, that’s not what I mean, Hutch.”

“Not a good idea, Professor.”

“Hutch, I’m transferring to the McCarver. I’ve already cleared it with Captain Brownstein. When you take your man off, I want you to put me and a small party of my people on board.”

“Professor—”

“Please don’t tell me it’s hazardous and you can’t do it.

The chindi has set course and is now moving at a steady velocity, which it will maintain for the next two centuries. It will still be cruising exactly as it is now when I retire. When you retire. Your grandchildren will be able to come out here and visit this thing. So there’s absolutely no reason not to do this.”

“Why are you asking me? I’ll only be a passenger on board the McCarver.”

“Captain Brownstein refuses. Says he has no authority. Says there are safety regulations.”

“And you think I can dissuade him?”

“I know you can. You understand the importance of this mission, and you have instructions from the Academy to assist me in every way possible. This is essential, Hutch. Please talk to your fellow captain and explain to him we must go on board.” He looked at her. The man was desperate. “Please, Hutch. You’ve been directed to help. I need your help.”

“You’ll only have a limited time over there. And when I tell you it’s done, to come back, you’ll come. Right?”

“Yes, of course.”

Where’ve I seen this show before? “And no one will be held liable in the event of mischance.”

“No. There won’t be any problem there. I assure you.”

“I’ll want it in writing.”

“TOR.”

Hutch had spoken to him out of the void. Her voice sounded strange, but it was her: “Tor, I don’t know whether you can hear me. I wanted you to know we haven’t given up.”

Give up? Why would she give up? The chindi was drifting quietly, if indeed it was drifting at all. It seemed stationary, locked against the immovable background of stars. A child could navigate alongside and take him off. What was going on?

“Hutch,” he’d whispered into the link, as if someone might overhear, “where are you? Where’ve you been?”

It came again: “But the situation isn’t good.”

They were having a problem with the Memphis. What he’d feared all along was true. He called her name, begged her to answer, demanded to know what was wrong.

“The chindi never jumped.”

He knew that. So what?

“—Slower than light—.” Reception wasn’t good. She sounded far away.

“Hutch. Where the hell are you?”

“—Moving too fast—”

And then it was gone. Not so much as a whimper came back to him.

He’d spent most of his time out on the surface. He’d been there now almost a week and he had no idea why they’d left him because even if the Memphis had developed mechanical problems, the Longworth was in the area. Where was everybody?

Whatever had happened, he knew from the way Hutch had sounded, knew with a terrible certainty, that he was not going to survive. He had not much more than a day left. And if Hutch’s voice had conveyed anything, it was despair.

Then she was back: “—transmission won’t get to you for almost a half hour. You’ll pass us a bit later. About an hour and twenty minutes from the time you receive this. Tor—”