Chindi к-3

by Джек Макдевитт

  “Wait a minute.” While she went off circuit he struggled to keep his feet pointed down. Then she was back. “Okay. Can you find the hatch out into the corridor again? The one you couldn’t get open earlier?”

  He was still floating in front of it. “Yes,” he said. “I can find it.”

  “Go to it. Tell me when you get there.”

  He reached down, felt for it, found it. “I’ve got it,” he said.

  “Good. I’m looking at a schematic for the Wendy. Off to your left, about five steps along the bulkhead, there are two equipment lockers.”

  Tor’s heartbeat surged. “There are e-suits in them,” he said.

  “Sorry. No. But there should be a couple of utility lamps.”

  The walls began to close in. He struggled to keep his frustration from showing. Keep his voice calm. He edged through the dark, trailing his fingers along the bulkhead, along shelves up high and bins near the deck. Pulling himself along. Barking his shins every ten seconds. The bins were all closed. Then he got to the lockers. He fumbled with the doors, opened them, and began feeling across the pieces of equipment secured inside. “You know where?” he asked.

  “It doesn’t say, Tor. It just gives us an inventory.”

  His fingers touched rods and cylinders and metal boxes and myriad different devices. He gave up in the first locker and went to the second.

  “How are you making out?”

  “I need a light,” he said.

  Hutch ignored the joke. “I don’t want to rush you, but we do have a time problem.”

  Yes. I wouldn’t know about that on my own, of course, with the fans not running and no air coming in. He felt across the gear. Lamps came in all sorts of different shapes. He was about to ask what kind of lamps when he picked one up. A wristlamp. “Got it,” he said, switching it on.

  “Good show, Tor. Now go to the back of the storeroom and turn right. About six meters from the lefthand bulkhead, there should be a hatch. Do you see it?”

  Tor strapped the lamp to his wrist and pushed himself forward. A little too fast maybe. He had to grab hold of a cabinet to stop, and he twisted his arm and banged his knee against a frame. “There it is,” he said.

  “Good. Can you open it?”

  He found the panel, remembered to open it from the bottom, and pulled out the handle. He hesitated and then—

  Pushed it down.

  The red lamps blinked on. They glowed like small hellish eyes. There was a vacuum there, too. And that meant nobody was going to get to him without killing him.

  “Nothing,” he told her.

  “Red lights?”

  “Yes.” Despairing. “Any other ideas?”

  Chapter 16

  There is nothing quite so critical to a sound disposition as being able to find a washroom when one is needed.

  — GREGORY MACALLISTER, DOWNHILL ALL THE WAY, 2219

  HUTCH WATCHED HORRIFIED as the forward section of the Wendy Jay melted.

  “What are we going to do?” demanded George.

  They were all there, standing helplessly in the shadow of the lander, Nick staring at the screen with his eyes wide, Alyx pale and desperate, George clenching and unclenching his big fists. He looked from Hutch to his link, got back on it, tried again to raise Kurt, his voice fueled by desperation.

  “There might be more of those things,” said Nick. “Waiting to jump us.”

  Hutch shook her head. “I think there’s only one.”

  “How do you know?” demanded Nick. “How in God’s name could you possibly know?”

  “Whatever attacked the Condor must have gotten blown up with the ship. We were there for a considerable time afterward and nothing bothered us. That tells me they only come in singles.”

  “If it’s the same kind of critter,” said Nick.

  The Wendy was a mass of showers and fountains and sprays. Her hull, like fine dust, like hot springs, like Old Faithful, squirted off in every direction, forming haze and mist. Gradually the clouds flattened, spread out, rounded off. Engulfed her.

  Tor was back on the link, his voice pitched high. “Hutch, do you have any ideas?”

  “I think I know what it’s doing,” said Nick. “It’s making a replacement. A new stealth. A satellite.”

  Hutch saw it, too. Even inside the cloud, in the uncertain light, she saw the first faint outline of the diamond core. “Bill,” she said, “let me see the schematic again. Rear section, C Deck. Where Tor is.”

  It appeared on-screen.

  “Hutch—” Alyx looked from her to the lander. Let’s get started. We can’t just stand here.

  But there was no use going until we figure out how to do this. Just waste time.

  She studied the alignment of the Wendy’s storage bins and cabinets. Most were built directly into the bulkheads. It would be almost impossible to cut one out while retaining its integrity.

  “Come on,” Nick said. “Let’s move. At least we can get Kurt out.”

  Kurt’s dead. Don’t you understand that? Kurt never had a chance. The overhead probably opened up on him, and before he even knew he had a problem he was dead.

  “Getting cool,” said Tor.

  George looked frantic. “The ship’s losing its definition,” he said. “It’s coming apart.”

  “Nanotech?” asked Alyx.

  “Yeah. Has to be.”

  Nick looked at Hutch. “When it hits the engines, will it explode?”

  “Probably.”

  George looked at her, pleading.

  And Hutch thought she saw a way. “Washroom,” she said. It was a cubicle, set out from the bulkhead. Storage shelves on both sides.

  They looked at her, puzzled.

  “Hutch.” Tor’s voice seemed to come from far away. “The Klaxons have stopped.”

  “Nick.” Hutch was trying to think whether it could be done. How it could be done. “Go to the bridge. There are two drawers beneath the main console. The right one has some ram tape in it. Get it.”

  Nick started to ask why, but thought better of it and hurried off.

  Then she signaled George and Alyx to follow her. “We’ve got to get some gear together,” she said.

  ZERO GEE WITH the lights out. It was cooling off, not a lot, but enough to suggest what was to come. The ship was absolutely silent save for a rustling in the bulkhead. Like loose paper getting blown around. When he put his hand to it he could feel a slight vibration.

  “There’s a noise in the walls,” he told Hutch. She acknowledged without comment. He imagined something gnawing on the ship.

  Until two weeks before, Tor had never been in serious personal danger. Now it was happening a second time. He was terrified, and he kept thinking it wouldn’t be so bad if he wasn’t frightened that his nerve would break, that he’d begin screaming for help. He tried again to raise Kurt, but there wasn’t even a carrier wave from the captain’s link.

  “Listen, Tor.” Hutch again. “We’ll be over in a couple of minutes. We’re going to get you out.”

  “How are you going to do that?” he asked, wondering whether she’d lie to him, do anything to keep his spirits up. He remembered the way heroic characters always died in the sims. Just prop me up against the gun, Louie. I’ll hold the pass until you get clear. What he wanted, maybe even as much as getting rescued, was to look good.

  “There’s a washroom in there. Find it. When I tell you, I want you to go into it.”

  “Into the washroom?”

  “Yes. We’ll be there as quickly as we can. We’re going to come in through the emergency airlock and down the tube. I’ll let you know when we’re ready to start the cut. When I do, make for the washroom.”

  He understood. “My God,” he said.

  “It’ll work.”

  “Going to get cold.”

  “Yes, it will. You have any blankets available?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so. This area seems to be all artifacts. Old pots and statues.”

  “All right. Y
ou’re going to have to take off some clothes, too, before we’re done.”

  It seemed like a strange time for a joke, but he said nothing.

  NICK WAS WAITING with the ram tape when Hutch, George, and Alyx returned to the launch bay. They were carrying go-packs, spare restraining harnesses, e-suits, air tanks, a fifty-meter length of cable, a wrench, and a pair of shears.

  She took the tape, thanked him, and hefted it in her hand. Did anybody have any experience with a laser cutter? They all smiled politely and looked at one another. “I need a volunteer,” Hutch said.

  Nick shuffled his feet. “You’re my man,” she said. She showed him the tool, turned on the power, activated the laser. She produced a marker, looked around, and found an empty cabinet. She drew a line along one side of its frame, and sliced cleanly down the line. “You want to try?”

  He nodded.

  She turned it off and handed it to him.

  He thumbed it on.

  “When the lamp’s green it’s ready,” she said.

  The lamp turned green, and he pressed the trigger. The laser appeared, a long blade of ruby light. “You can step up the intensity.” She showed him how. The light changed color. Brightened. “But this should be adequate.” She readjusted to the original setting.

  He looked at it and took aim at the mutilated cabinet.

  “No sudden motions. Resist the urge to press down. The laser does the work.”

  He cut off a long strip of metal and she told him congratulations, he had just graduated.

  Now she explained what she intended to do, laid out their instructions, and provided Nick with a pair of grip shoes.

  Everybody got an e-suit. They strapped on air tanks, activated the fields, and began breathing from the tanks. Hutch started the decompression procedure, checked their communications, and pulled on a vest. She threw the ram tape into it, attached the wrench and the shears to her vest, which would remain outside the Flickinger field, and threw the loop of cable over her shoulder. She put her go-pack into a backseat and got a second cutter for herself.

  She ran through a checklist in her mind, picked up an extra e-suit, and laid it into the backseat of the lander. “I think we’re ready to go,” she said.

  Nick and Alyx climbed in with her, and she started the engine. George backed off to give the vehicle room. She brought the Wendy schematic up on one of the auxiliary screens.

  When the chamber had gone to vacuum, the launch door rose. Thumbs-up to George. He returned the gesture, and they eased out into the night just as one of the Wendy’s forward sections seemed to break loose, rather like a globule of mercury, and drift away.

  Nick made a noise deep in his throat.

  Hutch moved deliberately, arcing out and approaching the Wendy from the rear. Nick pushed forward in his restraints as if to make the lander move faster, but he said nothing. Amidships, the hull appeared to be going through contractions, a woman experiencing the final stages of birth. A cloud of crystal flakes exploded and blew off.

  “Tor,” Hutch said, “we’re outside now. I’ll be down the tube in a minute.”

  “Okay. Take your time. No rush.”

  Get it right.

  Hutch studied the schematic, looked at the Wendy’s hull. “There,” she said, fixing the spot in her mind. It was located just below an antenna array. “He’s in there. And over here is our way in. A topside hatch.” She maneuvered toward the array, got within a couple of meters of the hull, matched course and speed, and directed Bill to hold it right where it was. Then she depressurized the cabin and opened the airlock.

  “What do we do,” Alyx asked, “if the thing attacks the lander?”

  “If that happens, we leave it here. Just abandon ship and I’ll pick you up.” She turned in her seat, lifted the go-pack onto her shoulders, and handed the shears to Alyx, making it almost a ceremonial gesture. “Here you go,” she said. “Take care of it.”

  Hutch checked to make sure she was still carrying her marker, and turned on her wristlamp. “Okay, Nick. Let’s get to it.”

  She passed through the hatch, put her cutter in her vest, and in a single movement launched herself across to the hull.

  Nick hesitated, checked to make sure he had his own cutter, and looked out at Hutch now clinging to the Wendy’s hull. He glanced at the frozen world beneath him, at the diseased thing gobbling down the ship.

  “It’s okay, Nick,” she said. “You can do this.”

  He laughed nervously. “That sounds like an epitaph. Nick could do it.” She laughed back, and he leaned out of the airlock, looking sporty in a green plaid shirt and white slacks. His eyes touched hers, and he pushed clear. He landed a bit hard and bounced, but she caught him and hauled him back. Then she spoke into her link. “Tor, you there?”

  “No,” he said, “I went to the show.”

  Sarcasm under pressure. The man had spirit. “Tell me when,” she said. She swung the wrench and rapped on the hull.

  “Now. I hear you.”

  “Good place to cut?”

  “A little more forward. About two meters.”

  Hutch measured and rapped again.

  “That’s good,” said Tor.

  She took out her marker, which was a bilious green, made an X at the spot and drew a large box around it. Three meters high by two wide. Now she turned to Nick. “Ready?”

  “Yes.” He pushed the stud on his cutter and the unit began charging.

  “It’s a triple hull,” she said. “You won’t have time to get through them all. Just do the best you can.”

  “All right.”

  “But don’t start until I tell you.”

  Hutch squeezed his shoulder, then returned to the lander. Alyx handed her the extra air tanks and e-suit, which she’d tied together in a package. While Hutch tethered them to her vest, she called Tor. “For now, I want you to stay near the hatch in the rear.”

  “Okay.”

  “Everything still all right?”

  “I’m doing fine. Could hardly ask for better accommodations.”

  “Good. I’m on my way in now.”

  “Okay.”

  She nodded to Alyx, checked to be sure she had her cutter and lamp, hoisted the loop of cable over her shoulder, slipped back outside, and made off aft to the topside hatch.

  It was circular, and the manual control was located behind a panel. She opened up, twisted the release, and pulled on the door. It swung outward. But the inner door jammed and she had to remove the locking mechanism to get it open. “I’m inside,” she told the commlink.

  The gravity tube, when powered, maintained a zero-gee condition, and was used to move materials, equipment, whatever, between decks. In this case, the power was off, of course, but it didn’t matter because so was the artificial gravity. She had to remove the go-pack, which she pushed down ahead of her, followed by the spare e-suit, the cable and the tanks. Then she climbed in, head down, pushed, and emerged moments later in front of a closed hatch. She rapped on it with the wrench.

  “That’s it,” said Tor.

  “Okay. I’m about to cut. Head for the washroom.”

  “On my way.”

  “Close the door as tight as you can.”

  Alyx broke in on her private channel: “Better hurry, Hutch. The entire forward end of the ship is disintegrating.” She made a little ooooh, a frightened sound that came from the soul.

  “What’s wrong, Alyx?” Hutch asked.

  “Kurt’s body just—just, just squirted out of one of the clouds.”

  Hutch waited to be sure she had control of her voice. “Is he dead? Can you tell?”

  “He’s not moving.”

  “Is he wearing air tanks?”

  “No. I don’t think so.”

  “You can’t see any?”

  “No.”

  She could sense something, a vibration in the bulkheads. Something bad coming her way. Her skin prickled.

  What was holding up Tor?

  Then he was speaking to her: “
Go ahead, Hutch. I’m inside.”

  “Okay, Tor,” she said, “get out of your clothes and button up the room as best you can. You have three drains, three inlets, and a vent.”

  “You want me to use my clothes to block the pipes?”

  “Yes. Do a good job and make it fast. How’s the door fit?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Does it look airtight?”

  “There’s a small crack at the bottom.”

  “Stuff paper in it. Anything that’ll hold for a minute or two.”

  “Okay.”

  “Do that first. Tell me when it’s done. When the door’s blocked off.”

  She waited, staring at the closed hatch. She checked with Nick, and then with Alyx. She asked George how he was doing. Everything was on schedule.

  The vibrations in the bulkhead were becoming more distinct.

  “Hurry up, Tor.”

  “Doing the best I can.”

  She’d wedged one foot into the guide rail to keep herself in position.

  “This paper under the door won’t last long.”

  “It doesn’t have to. Are we ready yet?”

  “Ready now. Go ahead.”

  Hutch activated the laser. “Nick?” she said.

  “All set, Hutch.”

  “Let’s do it.”

  She touched the red beam to the hatch, sliced into it, and isolated the locking mechanism.

  She cut around it, gave it a few moments to cool, and removed it. Then she turned the handle, and pulled back. The hatch opened, and a blast of air erupted past her.

  “I’m through, Tor,” she said, pushing into the interior. The washroom, she knew, was to her right, along the back wall, situated between rows of storage shelves.

  Her lamp picked it out and she knocked. “Right place?”

  “You got it.”

  The deck heaved beneath her feet. The entire ship shuddered. She swung the lamp left and focused it on the forward bulkhead. It was turning gray and beginning to bubble.

  She brought out the ram tape and placed a strip over the space between frame and door, and another between the door and the deck. Then she reinforced them. She did a quick inspection to see if she was missing anything that might be leaking air.