Джек Макдевитт - Chindi

Antonio Silvestri, who’d come aboard with Mogambo, came by the bridge. “You don’t remember me, do you?” he asked.

He was smallish, not much taller than she. Olive skin, black hair, dark eyes. Quite good-looking, with features that were almost feminine.

She’d seen him somewhere, but she was terribly sorry. Don’t recall where.

“Call me Tony,” he said disarmingly. “You took me over to Pinnacle from the station once, years ago.” He spoke English with a slight Italian accent. “It was only a two-day flight, and I really shouldn’t expect you to remember. But I remember you.” The eyes flashed. “I understand your concern for your passenger, Mr. Kirby. He is an artist, is he not?” Nodding. “I looked up his work when I heard.” He smiled. “He is worth saving. If I can do anything, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

Hutch also had a few minutes with Teri Hankata, Mogambo’s other outrider. She was more like her boss, perfunctorily polite, but ambitious and, Hutch thought, desperately intent on boarding the chindi.

“THIRTY-NINE MINUTES TO system jump,” said the McCarver’s AI, which responded to the name Jennifer and, unlike Bill, exhibited a no-nonsense attitude. “Two minutes to ignition.”

Brownstein nodded and informed the passengers. “Not that it really matters,” he added. “I don’t think you’ll notice any difference.”

The captain had turned the entire operation over to Jennifer—pointedly not Jenny, Hutch learned when she tried to use the diminutive—who counted down the final minute in ten-second increments, and then the last few seconds. It was all very dramatic, and the yacht’s engines fired precisely on schedule. The McCarver lifted against the lines securing it to the asteroid. It didn’t have much push, but it did have some, and that reduced the stress on the other vessels. The rise in their engine temperatures, which had reached alarming levels, declined somewhat. When it began to climb again it did so more slowly.

“We are gulping fuel like bandits,” Yurkiewicz informed them from the Longworth.

“Long as it holds out another half hour,” said Hutch.

They were by then approaching.018c, and had broken every record for attained velocity. “And we’ve done it,” said Brownstein, “hauling that son of a bitch along with us.” He jerked his thumb out at Dogbone.

Claymoor came on-line again. Audio only. “Hutch? Are you busy? May I have a moment?”

“Yes, Mr. Claymoor? What can I do for you?”

“Hutch, is it true you’re going outside when the big ships unhitch?”

“No,” she said, knowing immediately where the conversation was headed. “I’m staying right where I am.”

“I heard something different,” he said, disappointed. He turned his attention to Brownstein. “Yuri.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Can you arrange for me to go outside during the operation? I’ll want to get some close-ups.”

“Not a good idea, Mr. Claymoor.”

“Why not?” His voice rose slightly.

“We have to get that over and done with in the shortest possible time.”

“I can get in and out in a couple of minutes.”

“Sir, we’ll still be accelerating. You’d get ripped off the hull. Not at all good for your digestion.”

“Oh.”

“It’s not like the last time.”

Brownstein didn’t explain what the last time referred to, but she could guess that he’d been allowed to walk around somewhere in an e-suit.

“Damn,” he said. “We’ve got a hell of a story developing here, and we’re missing the pictures.”

“We’ll be getting pictures from the scopes.”

“I’ve been watching them. They’re not good enough.”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s not physically possible.”

“Brownie, people are going outside to cut the cables. It must be possible.”

He was right. There would be a couple of minutes during which the drives would be shut down. But they were going to be moving quickly. No time for picture-taking. If they missed their window, it would be over.

“I will not get in the way,” Claymoor said. He seemed to be addressing Hutch again.

Brownstein glanced over at her, his eyes suggesting it was her call.

“He’s your boss?” she asked.

Yes, he is.

She turned back to the journalist. “Mr. Claymoor,” she said. “The captain’s right. You go out there, we could lose you. But if you insist, and you’re willing to come back in as soon as I tell you—”

“Oh, yes,” he said. “No problem there.”

“You know how to wear an e-suit?”

“Of course.”

“Yuri thinks I should take you when I go out, so we’ll do it.”

“Thanks. You too, Yuri.”

The Longworth’s temperatures were starting up again, but Yurkiewicz reassured them they’d be all right, that he would hold it together as long as he had to, but she should know that he would need new engines when it was over.

Bill reported continued mild overheating, but under control. “We’re running short of fuel though. We’re using it at a substantial rate.”

There were fail-safes built into the engines on both the Longworth and the Memphis that would cut in to shut them down if conditions became intolerable. In fact, the failsafe on the Longworth would have acted already except that Yurkiewicz had obviously overridden it. The unit on the Memphis didn’t allow tinkering. But conditions were less severe there.

Brownstein passed her a sandwich. “Relax,” he said. She wasn’t sure where the food had come from.

“Approaching jump mode,” said Jennifer. “Eight minutes to shutdown.”

Neither the Longworth nor the Memphis would have enough fuel left to halt its forward motion. When the attempt was over, Hutch thought, they were all going to need rescuing.

The sandwich was roast beef. She chewed it slowly, tried to concentrate on it. Enjoy it.

ALYX’S MOMENT OF glory had arrived. She released her restraints and climbed out of her chair. On the Longworth, Yurkiewicz’s people would be doing the same thing.

She strode down to the cargo bay, slipped smoothly into an e-suit, picked up her air tanks, and collected the laser cutter. Then she pulled on a go-pack.

“Three minutes,” said Bill. “I remind you that cutting the outside lines should be done with expedition.” The AI was transmitting outside, speaking to everyone in all three ships.

Alyx opened the airlock. She was going over the route she would follow once she got on the hull.

She stepped inside, leaning against the bulkhead to keep her balance against the constant acceleration. She closed the inner door and depressurized.

Hutch ran a quick check from the McCarver. Was everybody ready on the Longworth? Aye, they were all set. In their case, the three volunteers had to cut eight lines, two of which were less accessible, meaning farther away from the airlocks, than anything Alyx had to worry about.

The Mac’s engines were hot. The little yacht, even with the help, was simply hauling too much mass for too long. Brownstein saw her glance at the numbers and shook his head. We’re a little warm, he seemed to be signaling, but we’re okay.

Was Alyx ready?

“Yes, I am.”

“Thirty seconds,” said Bill.

Alyx opened the outer hatch, but stayed away from it. They were still accelerating, she was off-balance, pressed against the rear bulkhead, and it wouldn’t do to fall out.

Bill counted down the last ten seconds. When time expired, the engines shut off on all three ships. The tendency to fall backward against the bulkhead was gone. She stood away from the wall, checked her sense of balance, which needed a few seconds to return to normal, and stepped out of the hatch. At the same time, three people moved out of the Longworth. She saw their lamps glitter as they scattered across the hull.