by Emily
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 qukkly 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."
&n
bsp; 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. / 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?
Connect the tether.
He had to let go with one hand to do that. Impossible.
He concentrated on the links, on the smooth burnished surface of the chain, on the way they were fastened. On getting secured to the net before Hutch came out of the airlock.
On anything other than the open void that yawned all around him.
He pried a hand loose, gathered up the tether, which dangled from his vest, and hooked it to a link. Pulled on it. Felt it lock down.
The net was moving up, accelerating. He was getting heavier. Below him, Hutch came out of the lander, tumbling.
He lost sight of her. Loose cable spilled into the sky, and he slid both arms into the links, grabbed hold of Hutch's line, which was tied securely around his middle, and braced himself. "I've got you," he told her.
The jolt ripped the cable out of his hands and yanked hard at his midsection. It dragged the loop down past his beltline to his knees, tore his feet off the cable, and for a terrifying moment he thought they were both going to take the plunge. But his tether held. He grabbed frantically for her line and clung to it with one hand and to the net with the other.
Someone was asking whether he was okay. Hutch's line was slipping away, and he gathered his nerve and let go of the net to get a better grip. He looked down at her swinging gently back and forth above the cloud tops.
He was afraid his own tether would part under the strain.
"Hutch?" he cried. "You okay?"
No answer.
She'd become an anchor, a deadweight, and he couldn't hold on, couldn't hold on. He squeezed his eyes shut, and his shoulders began to hurt.
He tried to pull up, tried to figure out a way to fasten her to the net, but he couldn't let go with either hand, or he'd lose her.
Kellie was asking for a goddam status report. "Hanging by my fingernails," he told her.
"Don't let go," said Mac. Good old Mac, always full of obvious advice.
His arms and shoulders began to ache. "Hutch? Help me."
Stupid thing to say. She was swinging back and forth, God knows how far below the bottom of the net, and she obviously couldn't help herself.
Why didn't she answer? Was she dead? Killed in the fall? How far had she fallen anyhow? He tried to calculate, to give his mind something else to concentrate on.
"I can't hold her much longer," he screamed at the circuit, at anyone who was listening. He was bent over and she weighed too much and he couldn't get her line up any higher. "Please help."
Marcel came on. "Randy, don't let go."
"How much longer?" he demanded. "How much longer do I have to hang on?"
"Until you're in orbit," he said. "Fourteen minutes."
His spirit sagged. Never happen. Not close. Fourteen minutes. I might as well drop her now.
Hutch had gotten the breath knocked out of her when she fell. She'd heard the voices on her circuit but they'd been distant and unintelligible until that last.
"Randy, don't let go."
"How much longer?"
She looked up at the line, arcing overhead for what seemed an interminable length, up to the net. Up to Nightingale, twisted and hanging on. Reflexively she thought about trying to climb it, to get to safety, but it was a long way. She couldn't manage it under these circumstances, and she didn't want to put additional pressure on Nightingale.
"I'm okay, Randy," she told him.
"Hutch!" He sounded so desperate. "Can you climb up?"
"I don't think so."
"Try."
"Not a good idea," she said.
"All right." He sounded so tired. So scared.
"Don't let go, Randy."
"I won't, Hutch. God help me, I won't."
"It's because we're lifting you out," Marcel told him. "Hang on."
"What do you think I'm trying to do?" He delivered a string of epithets, howling curses at tethers and landers and starship captains.
"Randy." Marcel's voice, cutting through his rage.
"Yeah? Goddam, yes, what do you want?"
"We're going to try something."
Oh God, he wanted to let go.
"Thirty seconds," said Marcel. "Just hold her for thirty seconds more."
His arms and back were on fire.
"She's going to get heavier," Marcel continued. "But only for thirty seconds. Hang on that long, and it'll be okay."
"Why? What?"
"On a five count. One."
"For God's sake, do it."
He waited. And abruptly the net jerked up. The line tore at him. Tore the flesh off his hands. Cut to bone.
He whimpered. He screamed.
He hated Hutchins. Hated her. Hated her.
Let go.
Please God let go.
The line curved away from him, disappearing under the net.
Won't.
Voice in his head or on the circuit telling him to hang on.
Any moment now.
We're almost there.
Won't.
Won't pass out. Won't let go.
Mac's voice, but the words unintelligible.
Not this time.
Not this time.
And suddenly the weight vanished. For a terrible moment
he thought she was gone. But he floated free. Weightless. Zero gee.
He still held on.
"Randy." Marcel now. "You have about forty seconds. Tie her to the net. Tight. Because it's coming back. The weight's coming back."
His fingers ached. They refused to open.
"Randy?" Kellie now. "You okay?"
"I'm here."
"Do what they tell you."
"Half a minute, Randy. Get it done." Marcel sounded desperate.
There was no down anymore. He drifted peacefully through the sky, waiting for the agony in his hands and shoulders to subside.
"Randy." Hutch's voice sounded small and far away. "Do it, Randy."
Yes. He pulled slowly, painfully on her line. Hauled it in. Looped it through the net. And tied it. Knotted it. Square knot. Never come loose.
Not in a million years.
They were moving again, rising, the weight flowing back. "It's okay," he said. "I've got her."
He hurt. Everything he had hurt.
But a joy unlike anything he'd ever known before washed through him.
XXXVI
Most of us sleepwalk through our lives. We take all its glories, its wine, food, love, and friendship, its sunsets and its stars, its poetry and fireplaces and laughter, for granted. We forget that experience is not, or should not be, a casual encounter, but rather an embrace. Consequently, for too many of us, when we come to the end, we wonder where the years have gone. And we suspect we have not lived.
—Gregory MacAllister, Deepsix Diary
"Hey!" Mac sounded frantic. "What just happened?"
"They went to zero gee," said Kellie. "To give Randy a chance to get himself together."
"How'd they do that?"
"You understand they were never trying to pull the net straight out of the atmosphere, right? You understand that?"
"Not really. But go ahead."
"They had to angle the extraction, to get us into orbit. That neutralizes gravity and allows them to pick us up. They were probably turning into a parabola right from the start. What they must have done was to pick up the pace. Remember how heavy you got?"
"I have a vague recollection, yes."
"That gains time. Then they cut the engines. In all four ships."
"What's that do?"
