by Timothy Zahn
Orofan blinked. “What do you mean? Whether or not we’re stopping here is still my decision.”
“Not any more. I’ve reconsidered and have decided this is our best course. Further planetary data is coming in, and it now seems likely that there are one or two planets here we could colonize.”
Orofan forced calmness into his voice. “You can’t do that, Lassarr. You can’t commit us to an uncertain war; certainly not one of conquest. Even if they were primitives—which they’re clearly not—we would have no right to take their worlds. This is not honorable—”
“Peace, Shipmaster.” Lassarr favored him with a hard, speculative glare. “You protest far too much. Tell me, if the Dawnsent didn’t need to be cannibalized for the required fuel mass, would you be nearly as opposed to stopping here?”
“Your insinuations are slanderous,” Orofan said stiffly. “The ship is my responsibility, yes, but I’ve not been blinded to all else. My overall duty is still to the Sk’cee in our sleep tanks.”
“I’m sure you believe that,” Lassarr said, more gently. “But I can’t afford to. The very nature of your training makes your judgment suspect in a case like this. The decision has been made. I’ve instructed the library to catalog nonessential equipment; disassembly will begin in two aarns.”
“You can’t do this,” Orofan whispered.
“I can,” the Voyagemaster said calmly, “and I have.”
Trembling with emotion, Orofan turned and fled from the bridge.
“That’s the last of them,” Goode reported from his position at the Origami’s helm. He sounded tired.
Chandra nodded, several neck muscles twinging with the action. Two days of two-gee deceleration wasn’t enough to incapacitate anyone, but it was more than enough to be a nuisance, and she was glad it was almost over. “That was what, the engineering crew?”
“Right—four lifeboats full. We’re all alone, Captain.”
She smiled tightly. “Fun, isn’t it? Okay. Chaser Twelve just checked in; the Intruder’s still on course. Our ETA on his path is four hours?”
“Just under. Three fifty-seven thirty.”
She did a quick calculation. “Gives us a whole six minutes to spare. Tight.”
Goode shrugged. “I would’ve been perfectly happy to take the whole trip at two gees and get here a day earlier. But creating fuel isn’t one of my talents.”
“I’ll suggest a tachship tanker fleet to Dad when we get home,” Chandra said dryly. “Okay. Number 81 should be our last boat. Fifteen minutes before we arrive I want you to go down and prep it. We’ll want to cut out the minute the Origami’s in position.”
“Roger.”
Conversation lapsed. It felt strange, Chandra thought, to be deliberately running towards a collision: strange and frightening; It brought her back to her first driving lessons, to her father’s warnings that she was never, never to race a monorail to a crossing. He’d hammered the point home by showing her pictures of cars that had lost such contests, and even now she shuddered at the memory of those horrible tangles.
And it was her father himself who had authorized this. She wondered how he was feeling right now. Worse than she was, probably.
Strange how, in the pictures, the monorail never seemed particularly damaged. Would it be that way this time too? She had no desire to kill any of the aliens aboard that ship if it could be avoided. This mess wasn’t really their fault.
Six minutes. … She hoped like hell the Intruder hadn’t changed course.
Captain Mahendra’s hands rested lightly on the Situation Room’s communications board, showing no sign whatsoever of tension. General Carey watched those hands in fascination, wondering at the man’s self-control. But, then, Mahendra didn’t have a daughter out there racing the ultimate monorail to its mathematical crossing.
Mahendra turned from the board, taking off his headphone, and Carey shifted his gaze to the captain’s face. “Well?”
“Chaser Six reports both the Intruder and the Origami still on course: Chasers Eight through Thirteen are still picking up lifeboats. Almost all the passengers are back; about three-quarters of the crew are still out there.”
Carey nodded. “How long will the Origami have before impact?”
“From now, three hours twenty minutes. Once in place, about six minutes.”
Carey hissed softly between his teeth. “Pretty slim margin.”
Mahendra frowned. “Should be enough, General. Those boats can handle two gees for ten minutes or so before running their tanks. Even if you allow them three minutes for launching, they can get—oh, three hundred kilometers out before impact. That should be a relatively safe distance.”
“I suppose so.”
“You seem doubtful,” a new voice cut in from behind him. Carey turned to discover Du Ballay had come up, unnoticed, and was standing at his shoulder.
“I’m concerned about those still aboard that ship,” the general growled. “They’re civilians and shouldn’t have to go through this.”
“I agree.” Du Bellay paused. “I, uh, looked up the Origami’s registry data. The captain is listed as a Chandra Carey.”
He stopped without asking the obvious question. Carey answered it anyway. “She’s my daughter.”
“Your daughter, sir?” Mahendra asked, eyes widening momentarily. “I’m sorry; I didn’t know.” His fingers danced over keys; numbers appeared on his screen. “Sir, we could pull a tachship off of the Intruder’s path and have it waiting to pick up Captain Carey when the Origami reaches position.”
“No. We’ve only got three tachships left on chaser duty and I’d rather leave them there. Chandra’s good, and I know she thinks highly of her crew. The best thing we can do for them is to keep feeding them good data on the Intruder’s course.”
“What about sending one of the tachships that’s on lifeboat-pickup duty?” Du Bellay suggested.
“Those boats don’t carry all that much food and air,” Carey said, shaking his head. “The Origami dropped a lot of boats, and some of them are getting close to the wire. Tachships can’t carry more than a single lifeboat at a time, and with all civilian craft officially barred from the area we’re going to have enough trouble picking up everyone as it is.” Both men still looked disturbed, so Carey flashed what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, Chandra can take care of herself. Captain, what’s the status of our attempts at communication?”
Du Bellay drifted off as, almost reluctantly, Mahendra turned back to his board. His hands, Carey noted, didn’t look nearly as relaxed as before.
The door opened, and Orofan paused on the threshold for a moment before stepping onto the bridge. Lassarr glanced up from the console where he and Pliij were working. “Yes, what is it?” the Voyagemaster growled.
“I’m asking you once more to reconsider,” Orofan said. His voice was firm, devoid of all emotion.
Lassarr evidently missed the implications of that. “It’s too late. Disassembly has begun; our new course is plotted.”
“But not yet executed,” Orofan pointed out. “And equipment can be reassembled. This path is not honorable, Voyagemaster.”
Deliberately, Lassarr turned his back on the Shipmaster. “Prepare to execute the course change,” he instructed Pliij.
“You leave me no alternative,” Orofan sighed.
Lassarr spun around—and froze, holding very tightly to the console, his eyes goggling at the assault gun nestled in Orofan’s tentacle. “Have you gone insane, Shipmaster?”
“Perhaps,” Orofan said. “But I will not face the ancestors having stood by while war was made against a race which has offered no provocation.”
“Indeed?” Lassarr’s voice dripped with the sarcasm of fear and anger combined. “And destroying them outright, without warning, is more honorable? A few aarns ago you didn’t think so. Or do you intend instead
to condemn a million Sk’cee to death?”
“I don’t know,” Orofan said, gazing at the screen that showed the approaching star. “There is still time to decide which path to take.”
Lassarr was aghast. “You’re going to leave this decision to a last-aarmi impulse?”
“Orofan, there’s barely a tenth of an aarn left,” Pliij said, his voice strained.
“I know.” Orofan focused on Lassarr. “But the Dawnsent is mine, and with that power goes responsibility for its actions. It is not honorable to relinquish that load.”
Slowly, as if finally understanding, Lassarr signed agreement. “But the burden may be transferred to one who is willing,” he said quietly.
“And what then of my honor?” Orofan asked, tentacles rippling with half-bitter amusement. “No. Your honor is safe, Voyagemaster—you were prevented only by force from following the path you deemed right. You may face the ancestors without fear.” He hefted the assault gun. “The final choice is now mine. My honor, alone, stands in the dock.”
And that was as it should be, Orofan knew. In the silence he stared at the screen and made his decision.
Ten minutes till cutoff. Alone on the bridge, Chandra tried to watch every read-out at once, looking for deviations from their calculated course. The Origami’s navigational computer was as good as anything on the market, but for extremely fine positioning it usually had the aid of beacons and maser tracking. Out here in the middle of nowhere, six A.U. from the sun, the computer had to rely on inertial guidance and star positions, and Chandra wasn’t sure it could handle the job alone.
She reached for the intercom, changed her mind and instead switched on the radio. The lifeboat bay intercoms were situated a good distance from the boats themselves, and Goode would have a better chance of hearing her over the boat’s radio. “Goode? How’s it going?” she called.
Her answer was a faint grunt of painful exertion. “Goode?” she asked sharply.
“Trouble, Captain,” his voice came faintly, as if from outside the boat. Chandra boosted both power and gain, and Goode’s next words were clearer. “One of the lines of the boat’s cradle is jammed—something’s dug into the mesh where I can’t get at it. I’ll need a laser torch to cut it.”
“Damn. The nearest one’s probably in the forward hobby room.” Chandra briefly considered dropping back to one gee while Goode was traveling, but immediately abandoned the idea. At this late stage that would force extra high-gee deceleration to still get to the rendezvous position on time, and there was no guarantee they had the fuel for that.
Goode read her mind, long-distance. “Don’t worry, I can make it. What’s the latest on the Intruder?”
“As of four minutes ago, holding steady. At a light-minute to the nearest tachship, though, that could be a little old.”
“I get the point. On my way.”
The minutes crawled by. Eyes still on the read-outs, Chandra mentally traced out Goode’s path: out the bay, turn right, elevator or stairway down two decks, along a long corridor, into the Number Two hobby and craft shop; secure a torch from the locked cabinet and return. Even with twice-normal weight she thought she was giving him plenty of time, but she was halfway through her third tracing when the drive abruptly cut off.
The sudden silence and weightlessness caught her by surprise, and she wasted two or three seconds fumbling at the radio switch. “Goode!” she shouted. “Where the hell are you?”
There was no reply. She waited, scanning the final location figures. Sure enough, the Origami had overshot the proper position by nearly eighty meters. She was just reaching for her power controls when the radio boomed.
“I’m back,” Goode said, panting heavily. “I didn’t trust the elevator—didn’t realize how hard the trip back would be. Sorry.”
“Never mind; just get to work. Is there anything you can hang onto? I’ve got to run the nose jets.”
“Go ahead. But, damn, this torch is a genuine toy. I don’t know how long it’ll take to cut the boat loose.”
A chill ran down Chandra’s spine, and it was all she could do to keep from hitting the main drive and getting them the hell out of there. “Better not be long, partner. It’s just you and me and a runaway monorail out here.”
“Yeah. Hey—couldn’t you call for a tachship to come and get us?”
“I already thought of that. But the nearest tachship is only a light-minute out, way too close to get here in one jump. He’d have to jump out a minimum of two A.U., then jump back here. Calculating the direction and timing for two jumps that fine-tuned would take almost twenty minutes, total.”
“Damn. I didn’t know that—I’ve never trained for tachships.” A short pause. “The first three strands are cut; seven to go. Minute and a half, I’d guess.”
“Okay.” Chandra was watching the read-outs closely. “We’re almost back in position; I’ll be down there before you’re done. The boat ready otherwise?”
“Ready, waiting, and eager.”
“Not nearly as eager as I am.” A squirt of the main drive to kill their velocity as the nose jets fell silent; one more careful scan of the read-outs—“I’m done. See you below.”
Goode was on the second to the last of the cable strands when she arrived. “Get in and strap down,” he told her, not looking up.
She did, wriggling into the pilot’s couch, and was ready by the time he scrambled in the opposite side. Without waiting for him to strap down, she hit the “release” button.
They were under two gees again practically before clearing the hull. Holding the throttle as high as it would go, Chandra confirmed that they were moving at right angles to the Intruder’s path. Only then did she glance at the chrono.
Ninety seconds to impact.
Next to her, Goode sighed. “I don’t think we’re going to make it, Chandra,” he said, his voice more wistful than afraid.
Chandra opened her mouth to say something reassuring—but it was the radio that spoke. “Avis T-466 to Origami lifeboat; come in?”
A civilian tachship? “Lifeboat; Captain Carey here. Listen, you’d better get the hell out of—”
“I know,” the voice interrupted. “I eavesdropped a bit on your problems via radio. You’re running late, but I’m right behind you. Kill your drive; I think I’ve got time to grapple onto you.”
Chandra hadn’t bothered to look at the ’scope yet, but even as she killed the drive Goode was pointing at it. “There he is. Coplanar course, intercept vector, two-five gee. …” The blip changed direction slightly, and Chandra realized suddenly that an amateur was at the controls.
Goode realized it, too. Muttering something, he jabbed at the computer keyboard, kicking in the drive again. “Tachship, we’re shifting speed and vector to match yours at intercept; just hold your course,” he called. “You’ve got standard magnetic grapples?”
“Yes, and they’re all set. Sit tight; here I come.”
The seconds ticked by. The blip on the scope was coming up fast . . . and then it was on top of them, and the lifeboat lurched hard as the grapples caught. “Gotcha!” the radio shouted. “Hang on!”
And with seconds to spare—
The universe vanished. Blackness filled the viewports, spilled like a physical thing into the lifeboat. For five long seconds—
And the sun exploded directly in front of them, brighter than Chandra had seen it for weeks. A dozen blips crawled across the ’scope, and the lifeboat’s beacon-reader abruptly came to life, informing them they were six thousand kilometers north-west-zenith of Earth’s Number Twelve navigational beacon.
Beside her, Chandra felt Goode go limp with released tension. “Still with me?” the radio asked.
“Sure are,” Chandra said, wiping the sweat off her palms. “I don’t know how to thank you, Mr.—?”
“Dr. Louis Du Bellay,” the voice identified himsel
f. “And don’t thank me yet. If what you did out there didn’t work, there’s a worse death coming for all of us.”
Chandra had almost forgotten about that. The thought sobered her rising spirits considerably. “You’re right. Can you get us into contact with Peacekeeper HQ? We need to report in.”
“I can maybe do better than that. Come aboard and we’ll find out.”
They were given special priority to land, and a car was standing by for them at the field.
General Carey was waiting outside the Situation Room. “I ought to pull your pilot’s license for going out there against specific Peacekeeper orders,” he told Du Bellay half-seriously, even as he gave his daughter a bear hug. “If Mahendra hadn’t confessed to helping you get hold of that tachship I probably would. But he’s too good a man to lose to a court-martial. Let’s get inside; the Chasers have been reporting in for nearly twenty minutes.”
Mahendra looked up as the group approached. “Captain Carey and Officer Goode? Congratulations; it looks like you’ve done it.”
Chandra felt a lump the thickness of ion shielding in her throat. “We slowed him?”
“No, but you deflected him a couple hundredths of a second in the right direction.”
“Confirmed?” General Carey asked sharply, as if not daring to believe it.
“Confirmed, sir,” Mahendra nodded. “He’ll be passing through the upper solar chromosphere instead of deep into the photosphere. We’ll get some good flares and a significant radiation increase for a few weeks, but nothing much worse than that.”
“And the Intruder hasn’t tried to correct his course?” Du Bellay asked quietly.
Mahendra’s expression was both sad and grim. “No, Doctor.”
Puzzled, Chandra glanced between her father, Mahendra, and Du Bellay, all of whom wore the same look. Even Goode’s face was starting to change … and suddenly she understood. “You mean … the impact killed all of them?”
Carey put his arm around her shoulders. “We had no choice, Chandra. It was a matter of survival. You understand, don’t you?”
She sighed and, reluctantly, nodded. Goode took her arm and led her to a nearby chair. Sitting there, holding tightly to his hand, she watched with the rest of the Situation Room as the computer plot of the Intruder’s position skimmed the sun’s surface and shot out once more toward deep space. What had they been like, she wondered numbly … and how many of them had she killed so that Earth could live?
