by Emily
It was about the size of a bear. Chiang was standing off to one side, his cutter held straight out. He saw Hutch, nodded, shut it off, and lowered it.
Hutch checked her parts. Everything seemed to be there. "I never saw it," she said, patting MacAllister's shoulder. "Hell of a job with the staff."
Kellie embraced Chiang and kissed his cheek.
"What was it?" Chiang asked.
"Dinner," said Hutch. "If all goes well."
They sliced off gobs of meat and wrapped them in plastic bags.
Toward the end of the afternoon, they topped the last rise, and the land began a long gentle decline. The storms had cleared off, and they had, for the first time since leaving the tower, a bright cheerful sky. They kept on until sundown, and Kellie urged that they continue. But the pace was too much for Mac and Nightingale, so Hutch called a halt near a stand of old trees that would provide firewood and privacy. They'd logged eighteen kilometers.
Pretty good, actually.
"Especially," said Nightingale, lowering himself onto a downed tree trunk, "when you consider this is hard country. It'll level out soon. And we should be almost out of the snow."
MacAllister also looked exhausted.
"Chiang," Kellie said, "let's get some wood." She picked up a dead branch and, as if that were a signal, the ground shook. Just once, for a few seconds.
They built a fire and roasted the meat. It smelled good, not unlike venison.
"Who's going to sample it?" asked Mac.
Hutch took a piece, thinking how being a leader wasn't all it was cracked up to be. She would follow Embry's prescription and go very slowly.
"Let me cut it for you," said Nightingale. He sliced off a narrow strip, held it so she could see it in the firelight, and surprised her by turning off his suit and taking a bite.
They watched him. "Thanks," said Hutch.
He shrugged, chewed it methodically, commented that it was good, and swallowed. Then he reactivated the field.
Hutch wondered why he'd done it. Nightingale did not strike her as someone who was given to the gallant gesture. She suspected he was responding on some level to MacAllister's presence. Showing him how wrong he had been.
A half hour passed. The meat looked ready. Chiang put on the coffee.
Nightingale showed no ill effect and announced that the rest of them could hang about if they liked, but that he was ready to eat. They looked at one another, killed the fields, and carved up dinner. It was quite good.
Conversation during meals was limited because of the low temperatures. Eating was strictly business on Deepsix, and if she lived through this, Hutch knew she would always recall these quick impersonal meals, nobody talking while they huddled as close to the fire as they could get, bolting food and coffee in the sting of cold air.
Happy days on the prairie.
They had no salt, no condiments of any kind, but that seemed only a detail.
Hutch made an announcement during the meal: "Marcel," she said, "tells me that the media are only a couple of days away. They were coming to shoot the collision, but now it's all about us."
"Of course," said Chiang.
"Anyhow, they're asking whether they'll be able to interview us when they get here."
MacAllister was clearly enjoying his supper. "That should be intriguing," he said, between bites. "We can have an end-of-the-world party right there on Universal News, which reports only the facts. Without bias or principle." It was a mild reference to Universal's Without bias or distortion credo. He looked toward the eastern sky, bright with unfamiliar constellations. It was too early yet for Morgan. "Yes, indeed," he said. "If they play it right, they should be able to get their best numbers of the year. Except maybe for the World Bowl."
"Hutch, we got a response from the Academy on your early reports at the tower. They congratulate you for your work and want you to keep digging. That's the phrase they use. Look for more evidence of the state of their science, it says. They want you to let the other sites go because there isn't time."
"Good," she said. "Tell them we'll comply."
"They also want you to be careful. They say to avoid any hazardous situations."
"Augie, wake up."
Emma didn't always sleep well, and she sometimes prowled the ship at night. What she did out there he didn't know. It was even possible she ran an occasional liaison with the captain. He didn't really care all that much. As long as she was available when he needed her. But she had hold of his arm at the moment, and was dragging him out of a very sound sleep. His first thought was that the Edward J. Zwick had sprung a leak. "What's wrong?" he asked, looking up at her.
She was the image of delight. "Augie, we've gotten a huge break."
He tried to imagine what it could be, but utterly failed. In any case, he thought, surely it could wait until morning.
"They've had an accident," she said. "Some of them are stranded down there. They're trying to find a rescue vessel and apparently not having much luck."
That woke him up. "What kind of accident? Was anybody killed?"
"Yep. Two or three. And you know who's among the strandees? MacAllister."
"My God. Is that right?"
"Absolutely."
"How could that happen?"
"Don't know. They're not putting out details yet. But we've got a great story falling into our laps." She pressed her lips against his cheek. "I've already been in touch with them. With Clairveau. And there's no competition within light-years." She clapped her hands and literally trembled with joy.
Canyon was still trying to grasp what she was telling him. "They're going to get them off okay, right?"
"Hell, I don't know, Augie. Right now it's touch and go. But if we're lucky, things will stay tense for a while. At least until we get there."
"We might have a problem," said Beekman.
The ocean and the northern coastline were on-screen. The area looked cold and gray, and the tide was very far out. Marcel wasn't sure he wanted to hear what Beekman was about to tell him.
"It's like what happens," said Beekman, "when a tsunami is coming."
Marcel waited impatiently. It was hard to feel any serious alarm. The coast was a long wall of high mountains. He'd been prepared to hear that there might be disturbances at sea, but the shoreline looked pretty well protected. "Is a tsunami coming?" he asked.
"Not exactly." They were seated in armchairs, in Beekman's office. The project director wore a short-sleeved shirt printed with frolicking dragons that he'd bought in Hong Kong. "It's just going to be another very high tide. The problem is that, as Morgan approaches, it's going to keep getting higher. Every day. The water's getting distorted by Morgan's gravitational pull. Mounting up. It's the first stage."
"What's the final stage?"
"The ocean gets ripped out of its bed."
"Gunny," Marcel said, "that's not going to happen tomorrow."
Beekman nodded. "No."
"If it's a problem, why didn't we talk about it before?"
"Because it didn't look as if it would become a factor. Because the coastal range has the ocean effectively blocked off until you get so far east it doesn't matter anymore."
"What's changed?"
"There are sections of the range that might not hold. That might collapse."
"Where?"
Beekman showed him.
"When?" he asked.
"Don't know. They could stand up until the water has to come over the top. If that happens, there's nothing to worry about. Or they could give way."
"Okay. What's the earliest it could break down?"
"We don't know that either. We don't have enough detailed information to be sure."
"Make a guess."
"Midnight, Tuesday. Our time."
Marcel checked his calendars. "That gives them eight days. Local days."
"Yes."
"They've lost a couple of days."
"That shouldn't be a major problem for them. They still have adequate tim
e. But keep in mind, Marcel. It's only a guess."
Marcel nodded. "I'll alert Hutch." He felt the bulkheads closing in on him. "Do we have any ideas for a backup plan?" he asked.
"You mean if Tess won't work?"
"That's right."
He shook his head. "Short of hoping for divine intervention, no. If Tess won't fly, they're dead. It's as simple as that."
XV
One timer fully appreciates civilization until the lights go out.
—Gregory MacAllister, "Patriots in the Woodshed," The Incomplete MacAllister
Hours to breakup (est): 210
There's got to be a way."
Beekman's eyes were bloodshot "If there is," he said, "I'd be grateful to know how."
"Okay." Marcel got up and looked down at him. "You've been talking about the tensile strength of the stuff we cut off the assembly. How about if we removed a piece of that?"
"To do what?"
"To reach them. To give them a way off the surface."
"Marcel, it would have to be three hundred kilometers long."
"Gunny, we've got four superluminals up here to work with."
"That's fine. You could have forty. So you've also got a very long shaft. What are you going to do with it?"
"Ram it down through the atmosphere. It wouldn't collapse under its own weight, would it?"
"No," said Beekman. "It wouldn't. But we'd have no control over it. Atmospheric forces would drive it along the ground at supersonic speed." He smiled sadly. "No, you wouldn't want to try to hitch a ride on something like that"
Marcel was just tired of all the defeatism. "Okay," he said, "I'll tell you what I want to happen. You've got a brain trust of major proportions scattered around this ship. Get them together, do it now, put everything else aside And find a way."
"Marcel, with any luck less will be enough to get them off." "There are too many things that can go wrong. And if we wait until they do, there'll be no time to come up with an alternative." He leaned over and seized Beekmarfs arm. "Consider it an intellectual challenge, if you want. But find a way."
Chiang was still awake when Morgan appeared in the east. Surrounding stars faded in its glow, which' seemed to have acquired a bluish tint. It was starkly brighter than it had been the previous evening. He could almost make out a disk.
He stood his watch under its baleful light. After Nightingale relieved him, he lay a long time watching it move through the trees. It seemed to him that he'd barely fallen asleep when Kellie roused him. "Time to get rolling, big fella," she said.
While they sat wearily around the campfire, breakfasting on the leftover creature meat, Hutch announced that more news had come down from Wendy.
"Not good, I take it," said MacAllister.
"Not good. We've lost a day or two," said Hutch. "The tides are rising along the north coast. Because of Morgan. There are mountains up there, but there's a possibility the water will break through onto the plain."
"A couple of days?" said Kellie.
"We've still got plenty of time."
"They think if it breaks through, it'll go all the way to the tower?" asked Nightingale.
"That's what they're saying."
"We need to hustle up," said Chiang.
The short days were beginning to work on them and they debated whether they should try to switch back to a twenty-four-hour clock and simply ignore the rising and setting of the sun.
Embry advised it would not be a good idea, that their metabolisms would try to adjust to local conditions. "Anyway," she added, "I doubt you want to be walking around down there in the dark."
They had only about seven hours of sunlight left when they finally got moving.
"You'll come out of the snow line later today," Marcel told them. "Looks like relatively easy going from that point on."
"Okay," said Hutch.
"Oh, and you've got another river to cross. A wide one this time. You'll get to it toward the end of the day." "Any bridges?" "Ho, ho."
"Seriously, can you guide us to the easiest crossing point?" "You like wide and slow or narrow and fast?" "We need a place where we can wade." "Can't tell from up here." "Make it wide and slow."
Chiang didn't care for MacAllister. He treated Kellie and Hutch as if they were lackeys and gofers, persons whose sole purpose was to make the world comfortable for people like himself. He ignored Nightingale altogether. He behaved well enough toward Chiang, although there was a degree of condescension that probably was not personal but rather reflected the editor's attitude toward everyone.
Even the gas giant became a target for him. While the others thought of the approaching juggernaut with a degree of awe, MacAllister took to referring to the world by the full name of its discoverer. It became Jerry Morgan at first, and eventually just plain Jerry.
"Well, I noticed Jerry was pretty bright last night."
And, "I do believe Jerry's become a crescent."
Chiang understood that the great man was frightened, maybe more so than the rest of them because he had a reputation to protect, and he was probably not sure how he'd hold up if things got worse instead of better.
The snow was thinning out, and they began one by one to discard their snowshoes.
They'd broken back out onto a broad plain. It was rolling country, marked by a few scattered trees and occasional patches of thick shrubbery. Toward midafternoon, two autumn-colored bipeds that seemed to be constructed exclusively of fangs and claws tried a coordinated attack from opposite sides. They'd been hiding behind hills and charged as the company passed. But the lasers drove them off and caused MacAllister to observe that these primitive life-forms were no match for somebody with guts and a good weapon. He looked meaningfully at Nightingale, and Hutch had to step between them again.
Tough fibrous grass pushed up through the snow, which by midday disappeared altogether. Purple and yellow shrubbery appeared, with thick stalks and wide, flat-bladed leaves that looked sharp enough to draw blood. They passed through a tree line, and the sunlight faded behind a canopy of branches and leaves. Eight-legged creatures scrambled up the trunks, and Nightingale once again regretted that there was no time for inspection.
They were small and almost invisible against the woodland background, with backs that resembled walnut shells, and triangular heads. They had antennas and beaks and mandibles that twitched constantly. He noted that, when he approached them, the antennas swung in his direction. Some hurried around to the far side of a convenient tree, out of his sight. One simply withdrew into a shell, like a turtle, and clung unmoving to thick bark. When Chiang approached, it fired black spray at him. In the direction of his eyes. It splattered against the e-suit.
Startled, Chiang fell back and went down. "You were lucky," said Nightingale, helping him up. "We don't know these creatures at all. It's a good idea not to be deceived by appearances. If you see something that looks like a chipmunk, don't assume it'll behave like one."
"We need to keep moving," said Hutch. "No time for admiring the critters."
Some of the trees were hardwoods, very much like oak and maple. Others had soft fleshy stems and short prickly branches. Bulbous purple fruit hung from them. Hutch broke off a sample, scooped out a small piece, killed her field, and tried it. She looked pleased. "Not bad," she said.
But when Chiang asked to share she shook her head. "Let's give it a while. See what happens."
They were pushing through heavy undergrowth when Chiang almost walked off the edge of a crag. The ground simply vanished underfoot. At first he thought he was going into a hole, but the bushes opened up, and he was looking down about six meters onto a scrabble of hard rock and tough-looking greenery. MacAllister grabbed his arm and, after a nervous moment while they struggled for balance, hauled him back.
"That's two we owe you, Mac," said Kellie. It was the first time anyone had used the shortened form of his name without derision.
The land became increasingly rough, scarred by gullies and ravines.
&nbs
p; The earlier problem of getting MacAllister down some of the descents recurred. They tried using cable, but it was thin and smooth, hard to hold on to. And tying it around his waist and using it to lower him down an embankment offended his dignity.
Hutch looked around at the vines that snaked up tree trunks and hung out of the branches and tried to pull one loose. The vine resisted, and it took all of them to drag it out of the tree. When they had sufficient length she cut it, and MacAllister, by then covered with bruises and ready for any kind of solution, consented to use it. It worked fine. He could hang on while they lowered away, and even assist the operation. When the ground finally flattened out, in mid-afternoon, he threw the vine away, but Hutch retrieved it, coiled it into a loop, and draped it around one shoulder.
Chiang noticed that MacAllister was no longer volunteering to drop back in order to allow the rest of the party to move ahead more quickly. Instead, he silently endured whatever indignities he had to, and worked hard to maintain his pace.
They stopped at a pool, hidden among trees and rocks. "What do you say," suggested Hutch, "we take a break and clean up a bit?"
Kellie was already pulling her blouse out away from her body. "I'm for it," she said. "You guys clear out and build a fire. But guard the trail."
"What if you get in trouble?" asked Chiang.
She laughed. "My clothes'll be able to go for help."
The men retreated. Hutch extracted a small piece of leftover meat and threw it into the water to see if anything would happen. When nothing did, she took up the sentry's position. Kellie shut off her field and wrapped her arms around herself for warmth. Then she took a deep breath and removed her jumpsuit. "What've we got for pneumonia?" she asked.
"Same as usual," Hutch smiled. "Coffee."
The place looked safe. Consequently, in the interests of saving time. Hutch handed her the soap and a washcloth, laid out two towels and another washcloth, put her own weapon on a rock by the water's edge, removed her gear and her clothes, and waded into the water. It was frigid.
