Dave Duncan - Wildcatter

Seth spent hours in the prospector’s storeroom, deciding what he must take with him, adding and subtracting gadgets and equipment. Nobody bothered him there, but the choices did. How many spare breathing filters? He must take a stun gun in case he saw some small fauna that he could capture. Was taking the blazer as well worth the extra weight? In the end he decided to leave out the blazer. Golden Hind ’s telescope should detect any animal life larger than a small pony and had not done so. A stun gun would stop anything smaller than that. How much drinking water? How many samples would he be able to carry?

Maria cornered him in the showers that evening while he was cleaning his teeth.

“Seth? Lover boy?”

He cocked an eyebrow at her image in the mirror, admiring the way her nipples stretching the thin fabric. She idled fingers down his bare back.

“Apart from JC,” she said, “everyone aboard is totally opposed to what you’re planning: Jordan, Hanna, Reese, and me.”

“Whittington’s cool. I promised you’ll feed her double while I’m gone.”

“Is there anything we can offer to make you change your mind?” She was wearing a come-on expression, but Maria always wore a come-on expression. She honestly didn’t know that, and never understand why men pestered her so much.

“Nothing. Not a trillion dollars.” What in space would impress Maria? “Even you can’t offer me what Cacafuego offers—fame, immortality! There will be species named after me, chemicals, minerals. And my humble contribution may lead to great scientific discoveries!”

She did not seem impressed. Her fingers slid around to his abs. “You’re such a great stud, Seth, the most exciting man I’ve ever—”

She was interrupted by an announcement from Control.

— Prospector, as requested, this is a four-hour forecast of a window of calm conditions at Site Apple. Launch window is open for next twenty-two minutes .

Seth’s heart leaped. His groin thrilled. He forgot Maria; this was better.

“Control, start loading shuttle fuel. Excuse me, love. That’s my cue.”

He was still pulling on his top when he reached the mess. Everyone else was there, having been playing a four-handed game of 3-D backgammon. Obviously they had heard the forecast, or else they had primed Control to warn them when it warned him, because they all tried to crowd around and speak at once.

“Sorry, can’t stay! Business.” He plowed through them, heading for the elevator. He was stopped at the galley door by JC’s mighty bellow:

“Prospector!”

“Sir?”

“It is traditional that the master names the shuttle.”

Recalling Reese’s sneer about barrels, Seth said, “ Niagara .” He stepped through the door and was gone.

Launching a shuttle ought to be a deliberate, meticulous procedure. In this case he and Control had already done everything that could be done in advance. By the time he scrambled into his chair, Control was showing the remaining items of the checklists on the display and proceeded to read them out as they were completed or reached significant marks.

—Fuel loading, sixty percent complete.

—All hatches secured.

—Sixteen minutes left in launch window.

—Battery power ok.

—Fuel loading, seventy percent complete.

—External radiation acceptable.

—Fuel loading, eighty percent complete.

—Ten minutes left in launch window.

—Revised weather forecast: unacceptable.

That was a punch he had not seen coming. For a moment he was tongue-tied. When he found words, they came out in a croak. “What’ja mean ‘unacceptable?’”

—Torrential rain and winds above shuttle specifications are now predicted for Site Apple at estimated time of touchdown.

“How much above spec?”

—Double.

If that were a human voice, he would think it was mocking him.

“Abort launch. Unload fuel.” He was dismayed to realize that he was soaked in sweat and his heart was racing around his chest, beating on his ribs as if trying to escape. Shame on him!

“Tough one,” Jordan’s voice said from the screen. “But the stars will line up again soon.”

About four hours into Day 412 , the stars did line up and Seth had to start over, running along the corridor before he was properly awake. That time the launch was aborted even before he reached the cab. He went back to bed happily, knowing that he would have a few hours’ respite now, while Golden Hind ’s orbit took it out of shuttle range of Site Apple. When he awoke, the downside weather was worse than ever. Close to noon he was called again and had to abort at T minus three minutes—another hurricane winding up.

Jordan called a conference that evening.

Seth saw no smug faces around the table. They were all feeling the strain, but they all seemed sympathetic, even JC. No one suggested he give up. They knew he wouldn’t.

“You can’t keep on like this,” Jordan said. “I know you’ve got titanium nerves and antifreeze blood, but no one can take this kind of jacking around for long without losing their edge. You’ve got to have some down-time. Ten hours off every night, at least.”

He nodded. It made sense. The planet wouldn’t go away. “I’ll make that change tomorrow, if I’m still here. I’m not starting to crack yet.” He forced a grin. “But I am really getting pissed off!”

Maria said, “We’ve checked Control’s weather records, and there truly are no patterns, as the Galactic commodore said. The Coriolis forces are huge and the temperature gradients enormous. Control’s invented the Category Seven hurricane, and tracked three of them.”

Hanna took over. “The problem is that the weather cannot be predicted more than three hours in advance, at best, which isn’t long enough for your needs. Another strategy would be to launch to an unstable orbit that would take you down slowly, over two or three days. From there you could make a faster approach when the weather looked good.”

But if he missed out on all four targets, he’d have to use fuel to boost his orbit, which in turn meant he would have to return to Golden Hind to refuel, and Hind didn’t carry enough spare for him to start over. So then he’d be limited to the one-shot plan that he’d rejected earlier. His danger bonus would pop like a soap bubble.

“I don’t like it,” Jordan said. “He’d be sitting by himself in that barrel. Here at least he has company. He can eat properly and exercise. There’s no hurry. We can stay here for months if we have to.”

Seth was saved from having to decide right then by Control.

— Prospector, as requested, this is a four-hour forecast of …

Seth emptied his water glass and stood up. “Control, start loading shuttle fuel.” This time he would walk, not run. “Gotta go, friends.”

“Good luck!” Jordan called.

“We’re praying for you.” That was Hanna, of course.

“We’re betting on you.” That was JC.

He scrambled into the cab.

—Fuel loading, seventy percent complete.

—All hatches secured…

He knew it all by heart now; he could sing along if he wanted to. He tried not to watch the fuel gauge. Cacafuego was just rising over the edge of the ship’s disk, blue and white and patches of green. Very beautiful; very deadly. He hunted for Sombrero Island among the white loops and whirls. He was taken by surprise when a tone sounded and the screen flashed green text: Ready to launch .