Deepsix

by Jack McDevitt

  After Emma and Canyon had left Zwick, the only people remaining on board were Tom Scolari, Cleo, Jack Kingsbury, and Chop. Scolari wasn’t entirely comfortable being on a ship that was in effect nailed to a pole, with nobody else there. They knew that the shaft had been caught in the grip of Maleiva Ill’s gravity well, and that it and everything attached to it was falling toward the surface.

  They’d been assured there was no danger. It was a controlled fall. The AI would, at the appropriate moment, fire the engines, as would the AIs on the other three ships, and they would haul Alpha out of the well, along with the landing party.

  All very simple.

  Still, Scolari would have liked to see someone else on the ship, preferably someone wearing stripes on his sleeves who would know if something had gone wrong, and who’d be competent to fix things. It was why superluminals, which could be operated from the beginning to the end of a journey without human help, retained captains.

  They were all in the common room. Cleo and Chop were munching on sandwiches, and Jack nursed a soft drink. Scolari would have preferred to be on the Star, where he’d have felt safer among the fifteen hundred tourists. Where people were actually on duty to make sure everything was okay.

  They were reassuring one another when the AI broke in. “We have a swarm of dust and pebbles approaching at high speed,” it said in its smoky female voice. “Please retire to an acceleration station at once.”

  They looked nervously at one another. “Are we in danger?” asked Chop.

  “The danger is minimal,” said the AI. “However, in accordance with standard safety procedures, please put on an e-suit.”

  Acceleration stations consisted of bunks installed throughout the ship. There was a rack of six against one bulkhead in the common room. They collected e-harnesses and breathers from the emergency panel and strapped them on. Then they activated the fields.

  “It thinks a meteor might come through the hull,” said Cleo, looking scared.

  Scolari put on his most reassuring manner. “It’s just a precaution.”

  Chop’s eyes moved nervously around the interior. Kingsbury clapped a hand on Scolari’s shoulder. “When this is done, lad, I’d like to buy everyone a drink.”

  They climbed in, and the restraints settled over them.

  “Make mine Hebert’s,” he said.

  “I’ll inform you,” said the AI, “when the emergency has passed.” There was, he told himself, really no reason to be alarmed.

  “I wonder how far away they are,” said Chop. “The rocks.”

  A new voice spoke in his earphones: “This is Captain Clairveau. Your AI has just informed me that you folks are alone on Zwick. Are you okay?”

  “Jack Kingsbury here. We’re fine, Captain. I wonder if you can tell us what’s happening?”

  Before he could answer, there was a hammerblow forward, the ship shuddered, and Scolari’s earphones clicked. The sound of the carrier wave changed.

  “Captain,” said Scolari, “are you still there?”

  There was another clang. It echoed through the chamber.

  The transmission died.

  An automated voice said, “Fourteen minutes.”

  “We’ve reestablished communications with Wendy,” Lori told the bridge. “Zwick is still down.”

  Marcel was studying the situation screen, which depicted the debris field as a blinking yellow glow. Some of the rocks were entering the atmosphere. But it appeared that the worst would be over in another couple of minutes.

  “Lori,” Marcel said, “do we have a picture of them anywhere? Of Zwick?”

  “No. Only vehicle close enough is Miles, but he doesn’t have an angle. I’ll let you know as soon as we get something.”

  The comm board lit up. “Captain Clairveau.” It was Drummond.

  “Go ahead, John.”

  “Bad news…”

  Marcel held his breath. Drummond was still speaking, so it couldn’t be too bad. “What is it?”

  “Transmitting visual.”

  An auxiliary screen lit up and Marcel found himself looking at the net. The bottom of the net.

  The sack.

  Except that the sack wasn’t there anymore.

  Where the net should have flared out to provide a haven for the lander, where the collar should have lighted the way, everything simply hung down toward the clouds, limp and dead.

  “What happened?”

  “Don’t know, Marcel. It must have been hit.”

  He willed the image away.

  “Must have been a strike directly on the collar,” said Drummond. “Or the supports. Everything collapsed.”

  “Thirteen minutes,” said the voice.

  The AI warned Scolari and the others that Zwick was about to fire its engines. The process of slowing and eventually reversing Alpha’s descent phase had begun.

  It also informed them that communications with the other vessels had been reestablished.

  XXXV

  Survival in a crisis is often a matter of sheer good fortune. The good fortune may consist of the timely arrival of a platoon of Peacekeepers, of having a power source unexpectedly kick in, of sitting in the correct part of the aircraft. Most frequently, it is being with the right people.

  —GREGORY MACALLISTER, Spiritual Guidance for Tentmakers

  Hours to breakup (est): 10

  “…not an unbeatable problem…” Marcel’s image seemed to lose definition on-screen. He was still talking, but Hutch was no longer hearing him.

  “…can still maybe ease your way in…”

  She stared straight ahead, through the windscreen, into the ashen sky that went on forever. Off to her right, a huge pall of smoke trailed upward. A volcano, they were telling her. Behind her, somebody moved. But no one spoke.

  “…bad luck, but we’ll just have to work around it…”

  She clung to the yoke as though it could save her. Move it forward, drop the flaps, the lander angled down. Nice, dependable physics.

  “…still manage…”

  She killed the sound, left him mouthing the words, staring at her with empty eyes. Curiously, she felt sorry for him. He had gone far beyond what anybody could have expected, and it had simply blown up at the last second.

  A meteor strike. How could they have been so unlucky?

  “What now?” asked MacAllister.

  She could barely hear him.

  “My God,” breathed Nightingale.

  “How about nosing our way in?” said Kellie. “We know there’s an opening. All we have to do is find it.”

  “Yeah.” Nightingale reached forward and squeezed her shoulder. “It doesn’t sound all that hard.”

  She brought Marcel back. “You said the collar’s collapsed. But it had lights. Can you still light it up?”

  “Negative,” he said. “There’s no response from it.”

  “If we can find the collar, what’s to stop us from just pushing our way in?”

  “Not a thing. It’s not exactly what we’d planned, but you might be able to do it. If it’s not too badly tangled. It’s hard to tell what the precise conditions are.”

  Might. If.

  “Hell, Marcel, the plans are by the board.” She stared at her instruments. “I hate to put it to you in these terms, but we don’t have any place to land.”

  “I know.”

  “Am I still on course?”

  “Yes, Hutch. Dead on.”

  Unhappy choice of phrase. She saw him cringe, realizing what he’d said, wishing he could recall it.

  “There it is,” said Kellie.

  It was a long filmy garment descending out of the sky. She watched it come down, saw the winds sucking at it, twisting it, pushing it first one way and then another. That surprised her, at this altitude, and she grasped finally how light the construction material really was.

  But the whole thing had collapsed. It wasn’t just the ring. The support rails, which actually separated back from front and the sides from each other and
consequently made the sack, were down, too. She could see them caught up in the linkage. One fell away as she watched. She tracked it down into the clouds below.

  There was no sack to ease into.

  “What are we going to do?” asked Nightingale, unable to keep the terror out of his voice. “What in God’s name are we going to do?”

  She would at that moment have taken pleasure in throwing him out of the spacecraft.

  “You’re coming in too fast,” said Marcel. “Cut back ten klicks. No, twelve. Cut back twelve.”

  She eased off. And tried simultaneously to slow her heartbeat.

  “Six minutes,” Marcel told her. “It’ll still be in the descent phase. At the very end. Just before it starts up again. You’ll have not quite ninety seconds to get on board. Then the net will start back up.”

  “Can you give us a little more time?”

  “Unfortunately not. If we try to do that, we’ll lose control of the shaft. Won’t be able to pull it out at all.” He looked as if he felt additional justification was necessary. “Hutch, if we don’t retract it on schedule, it’ll go into the ocean.”

  She studied the sequence Marcel had given her. At the moment, two of the four superluminals were using their main engines to brake the descent. Over the next few minutes, that application of power would slow Alpha, bringing it briefly to a halt. Then it would start up.

  She knew approximately where the opening should be, but she couldn’t see it, could see only a jumbled mass of chain linkage. “Anybody see the collar? Marcel, is it facing us? Is it still on the east?”

  “I can’t tell, Hutch. Your picture is better than ours. The atmosphere’s been raising hell with the scopes.”

  “I can’t see anything,” said Kellie. “It’s a tangle.”

  “What do you think?” asked Marcel. “Can you do it?”

  “It isn’t going to work,” said Kellie. “It’s too screwed up. You won’t be able to push into that.”

  “I agree,” said Hutch.

  “Hutch.” Mac’s voice went high. “We don’t have anything else.”

  “Maybe we have.” She took a deep breath. “Okay. Everybody relax. And here’s what we’re going to do.”

  Kellie’s dark eyes met hers, and a message passed between them, a question. Hutch nodded.

  Kellie opened the storage cabinets and started pulling out air tanks. She handed one to Nightingale.

  “What’s this for?” he asked, looking genuinely puzzled.

  “Everybody into your e-suit,” said Hutch.

  “Why?” demanded Mac.

  Hutch’s voice was level. “We’re going to abandon ship.”

  “Hutch,” said Marcel, “slow down. Cut back six klicks.”

  Hutch complied. Her adrenaline was pumping, and she was trying to rush things. “How many tethers do we have?” she asked Kellie.

  Kellie rummaged around in the cabinets. Hutch heard one of the e-suits activate. Nightingale’s.

  “Two,” said Kellie. She gave them to Mac and Nightingale, and showed them how to use the clips. “Just hook it on the web, and it’ll lock.”

  “Hutch,” said Nightingale. “Are you telling me we’re going outside? We’re going to jump?”

  She nodded. “I can put you right next to the net, Randy. You can walk over.”

  “My God,” he said.

  Hutch turned back to Marcel. “How thick are the links in the net?”

  “Narrow. Think of your index finger. Why do you ask?”

  “I wanted to be sure our tethering clips would work. We’re going to bail out.”

  “What? You can’t do that, Hutch.”

  “Why not? Listen, it’s our best chance, and I don’t have time to argue.”

  Kellie cut two more pieces of cable and handed one to Hutch. Hutch pulled on her air tanks and activated her e-suit.

  “Yours and Hutch’s don’t have clips,” said Mac.

  “We’ll do fine,” Hutch told him. “Now listen: When we get there, I’m going to lay this thing directly alongside. We’re going to match its rate of descent, so the only thing you’re going to have to do is lean out and grab hold. And climb on.”

  Nightingale had gone chalk white.

  “It’ll work, Randy. No reason it won’t. Once you’re across, clip yourself on. Okay? It’ll look scary, but you’ll be safe. When you’re there, and tethered, you can relax and enjoy the ride.”

  She wanted to tell Nightingale they were going to be cutting things close, that there’d be no time to freeze in the airlock. But she restrained herself, knowing she might only cause the logjam she feared.

  Kellie looked steadily at her. “Why don’t you let me take the controls?”

  Hutch shook her head. “Thanks,” she said. “I got it.”

  “I’ll toss you for it.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Nightingale. “What’s going on?”

  “There won’t be anybody to hold it steady for her,” said Kellie.

  “I’ll get out,” said Hutch.

  Kellie persisted. “Maybe we should go back to trying to find the collar.”

  “Won’t work. Forget it. I’ll manage.”

  They were in close. They came out of a cloud bank and saw sunlight. The net hung out of the sky, directly in front of them.

  Kellie was right, of course. The spike would hold the lander at a constant altitude, but the net was moving. Once Hutch let go of the controls, the net and the lander would separate very quickly. She could expect to get to the airlock and find the net thirty meters away.

  Well, there was no help for it.

  Damn.

  “What about the wind?” asked Nightingale.

  “No problem at this altitude.”

  He was looking at her desperately. Poor son of a bitch was terrified. She tried to give him an encouraging smile. But there was no time to talk things over. She reduced the air pressure in the cabin to duplicate conditions outside. Then she opened the inner airlock hatch. “Mac,” she said, “you first. Go when I tell you.”

  MacAllister nodded. “Thanks, Hutch,” he said. And then he gazed wistfully at her. “Thanks for everything.” He walked into the lock, and the outer hatch opened.

  Never look down.

  The net was hopelessly snarled.

  “Wait till I tell you, Mac.” She moved closer, felt the links brush the hull. Be careful: She didn’t want to get tangled. “Okay, Mac. Go.”

  MacAllister hesitated, and she caught her breath. Please, Lord, not another one.

  Then he was gone. Hutch pulled quickly away to give him room, to reduce the possibility of hitting him or the net with the spacecraft.

  Kellie was leaning out, looking off to one side. “He’s okay,” she said. “He’s on.”

  “Kellie, you’re next. Wait for the signal.” This way, if Nightingale panicked, he’d kill only himself.

  Kellie leaned close to her in passing. “Love you, Hutch,” she said.

  Hutch nodded. “You too.”

  Kellie got into the airlock.

  Nightingale was pulling more cable out of the locker. She wanted to ask what he was doing, but she was busy with other things.

  Hutch brought the lander back in close. “When I tell you,” she said.

  Kellie waited, muscles tensed.

  “Now. Do it.”

  Kellie stepped out into the sky. Hutch pulled away again.

  “Okay.” Kellie’s voice rang on the circuit. “I’m on board.”

  Two for two.

  The net’s rate of descent was slowing. Hutch matched it and moved in again. “Your turn, Randy,” she said.

  He stood looking at her. “How are you going to get out?”

  “I’ll get out.”

  “How?”

  The net stopped, paused, and began to rise. Hutch adjusted the lander’s buoyancy, pushed into the linkage.

  “Go,” she said.

  He was standing immediately behind her.

 
“Not without you.” His voice sounded odd.

  “Randy, I can’t hold it here forever.”

  He leaned down, showed her the piece of cable he’d just taken from the cabinet, and began to loop it around her waist.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded.

  The cable was about forty meters long. He hurried to the airlock and she saw that he’d tied the other end around his own middle. “After I’m out,” he said, “count to one, and come.”

  “Randy, this is crazy. If I don’t get clear—”

  “We both go. Up or down together.”

  The net was rising more quickly, accelerating, but she stayed with it. It clinked against the hull.

  Hutch might have untied the tether. But it gave her a chance. Hell, it gave her a good chance. “Okay, Randy,” she said. “Go!”

  He disappeared into the airlock, and then he was gone. She veered off, giving him room, listening for him to tell her he was okay. But he was breathing too hard to speak, or maybe his vocal cords were frozen and the cable between them was snaking out of the cabin. I hope you’re hooked to something, buddy. She let go the yoke, leaped full tilt across the deck, and dived through the airlock, scooping the tether as she went so it wouldn’t become tangled with the lander. The net was already out of reach, rising and drifting away.

  Nightingale would almost have preferred to stay in the cabin, with its comforting bulkheads and its seats, to go down with it, rather than throw himself into the sky.

  There had been a moment, when he was tying himself and Hutch together, that he’d thought he was really looking for an excuse to avoid the jump. And maybe that’s what it had been. Maybe he’d hoped she would refuse his help, and he could then have simply, magnanimously, stayed with her, shielded from that terrible hatch.

  But she’d trusted him, and that trust had fueled his determination not to humiliate himself again. The net had been within easy reach. He had simply taken it, gathered it into his arms, and dragged himself from the spacecraft. Then he was alone and the lander was veering away and he was hanging on, his eyes shut.

  The net was rippling and moving. Nightingale clung to it, stood on it, felt its folds all around him, made himself part of it. He got his eyes open. The lander looked very far away, and the line that connected him to Hutchins lengthened until he feared he would be torn from his perch. Where was she?